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fiTJ 17 ,Ml 



Bakers s Dialect Series 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS 



CO^lPRISING A SERIES OF 



THE MOST POPULAR SELECTIONS 

3n Prose an6 Uerse 



EDITED BY 

GEORGE M. BAKER 

COMPILER OF "THE READING CLUB AND HANDY SPEAKER," "THB 

PREMIUM SPEAKER," "THE POPULAR SPEAKER," "THE 

PRIZE SPEAKER," "THE HANDY SPEAKER," ETC. 




BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK 

CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM 

1888 






<^ ^ 



y 



Copyright, 1887, 
By GEORGE M. BAKER. 



Ikish Dialect Recitations. 



RAND AVERY COMPANY, 

KUECTROTYPERS AND PRINTERS, 

BOSTON, 



3Y7 



CONTENTS. 



/ 



PAGE 

How Teddy Saved His Bacon 5 

Mr. O'Hoolahan's Mistake 7 

The Last of the Sarpints 9 

The Irish Boy and the Priest 11 

An Irisli Wake 12 

Biddy's Philosophy R. II. Stoddard ... 14 

Reflections on the Needle Cormac O'Lcar?/ . . 15 

The Red O'Neil Thomas S. Collier . . IG 

Deaf and Dumb Amia F. Burnham . 20 

:. Murphy Explains His Son's Con- 
duct 21 

Ram for Ould Oireland 22 

le Gridiron William B. Fowle . . 23 

'e " O'Meara Consolidated " . . . Va. (Jity Enterprise . 26 

■ddy's Metamorphosis Moore 28 

. le Widow O'Shane's Rent 29 

hy Biddy and Pat Got Married 30 

Don Squixet's Ghost ....... Harry Bolingbroke . 31 

Mr. O'Gallagher's Three Roads to 

Learning Captain Mam/at . . 33 

Two Irish Id vis Alfred Perceval Graves, 37 

The Broken Pitcher 39 

Paddy's Excelsior Harper's Magazine . . 40 

The Irish Philosopher 41 

ISIary Maloney's Philosophy .... Philadelphia Bulletin, 42 

Bridget INIcRae's Wedding Anniversary iV"??ia (?ro?/ .... 44 

Paddy O'Raftlier Samuel Lover ... 4.5 

Pat's Reason 47 

O'Branigan's Drill IF. TF. Fink .... 47 

Pat and tlie Pig 48 

Pat and the Oysters 50 

A Penitent ." Marqaret Eytinge . . 51 

Milie McGaffaty'sDog Mark Melville '. . . 51 

Jimmy Butler and the Owl 53 

Tipp(>rary 5(5 

Pat's Dream of Heaven 58 

Biddy's Troubles 01 



4 CONTENTS. 

PA6B 

Make It Four, Yer Honor 62 

The Post-Boy Mrs. C. J. Despard . 64 

That Fire at the Nolans' Life 67 

Ninety-Eight 70 

Pat's Boiulsman Lilian A. Moulton . . 71 

Washee, Washee Joaquin Miller ... 73 

Annie's Ticket 74 

O'Thello Harper^ s Magazine . . 76 

Lanty Leary Samuel Lover ... 77 

Katie's Answer 78 

Paddy's Dream 79 

L<!Ssons in Cookery Detroit Free Press . . 80 

Tlie Irish Traveller 82 

Teddy's Six Bulls 82 

A Miracle Charles H. Webber . . 84 

Pat and Miss Skitty Bessie Bently .... 84 

At the Rising of the Moon .... Leo Casey 86 

The Irish Schoolmaster 87 

How Dennis Took the Pledge 89 

When McGue Puts the Baby to Sleep iK) 

The Confession Samuel Lover ... 91 

Father Phil's Collection Samuel Lover ... 92 

St. Patrick's Martyrs 100 

Pat's Correspondence W. M. Giffin .... 102 

Little Pat and the Parson 104 

Patrick O'Rouke and the Frogs . . . George W. Bungay . 105 

Widow Malone Charles Lever . . . . 108 

The Birth of St. Patrick Samuel Lover. . . . 109 

Murphy's Mystery of the Pork Barrel 110 

Paddy Blake's Echo Samuel Lover. . . .111 

A Cook of the Period 112 

Larry's on the Force Irio in Russell . . . . 113 

Pat and the Frogs R. M. T. 114 

Paddy's Courting W. A. Eaton . . . .116 

A Bit of Gossip Josephine Pollard . . 118 

Paddy and His Pig 120 

Teddy McGuire and Paddy O'Flynn . Amanda T. Jones . . 121 

Paudeen O'llafTerty's Say- Voyage 125 

Irish Astronomy Charles G. Halpine . 128 

Paddy McGrath's Introduction to Mr. 

Bruin 129 

Larrie O'Dee W. W. Fink .... VM 

Irish Coquetry 132 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



HOW TERRY SAVED HIS BACON. 

Early one fine morning, as Terence O'Fleary was hard 
at work in his potato-garden, he was accosted by his gossip, 
Mick Casey, who he perceived had liis Sunday clothes on. 

" Ah ! Terry, man, what would you be afther doing there 
wid them praties, an' Phelim O'Loughlin's berrin' goin' to 
take place V Come along, ma bochel ! sure the praties will 
wait." 

" Och ! no," sis Terry : " I must dig on this ridge for the 
childers' breakfast; an' thin I'm goin' to confession to Father 
O'Higgins, who holds a stashin beyont there at his own 
house." 

" Bother take the stashin ! " sis Mick : " Sure that 'ud wait 
too." But Terence was not to be persuaded. 

Away went Mick to the berrin' ; and Terence, having fin- 
ished "wid the praties," as he said, went down to Father 
O'Higgins, where he was shown into the kitchen to wait 
his turn for confession. He had not been long standing 
there before the kitchen-fire, when his attention was attracted 
by a nice piece of bacon which hung in the chimney-corner. 
Terry looked at it again and again, and wished the childer 
"had it home wid the praties." 

"Murther alive!" says he, "will I take it? Sure the 
priest can spare it ; an' it would be a rare thrate to Judy 
an' the gossoons at home, to say nothin' iv myself, who 
hasn't tasted the likes this many's the day." Terry 
looked at it again, and then turned away, saying, "I won't 
take it : why would I. an' it not mine, but the priest's ? an' 
I'd have the sin iv it, sure! I won't take it," replied he,* 



6 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

« an' it's nothin' but the Ould Boy himself that's timptin* 
me. But sure it's no harm to feel it, any way," said he, 
taking it into his hand, and looking earnestly at it. " Och ! 
\t's a beauty; and why wouldn't I carry it home to Judy 
\wA the childer ? An' sure it won't be a sin afther I con- 
fesses it."' 

AVell, into his great-coat pocket he thrust it ; and he had 
scarcely done so, when the maid came in and told him that 
it was his turn for confession. 

" Murther alive ! I'm kilt and ridned, horse and loot, now, 
joy, Terry. What'll I do in this quandary, at all, at all ? By 
fannies! I must thry an' make the best of it, anyhow," 
^ays he to himself ; and in he went. 

He knelt to the priest, told his sins, and was about to 
receive absolution, when all at once he seemed to recollect 
himself, and cried out, — 

" Oh ! stop, stop. Father O'Higgins, dear ! for goodness' 
sake, stop ! I have one great big sin to tell yit ; only, sur, 
I'm frightened to tell id, in the regard of niver having done 
the like afore, sur, niver ! " 

" Come ! " said Father O'Higgins, " you must tell it to me.** 

" Why, then, your riverince, I will tell id ; but, sur, I'm 
ashamed like." 

" Oh ! never mind : tell it," said the priest. 

" Why, then, your riverince, I went cut one day to a gin- 
tleman's house, upon a little bit of business; an' he bein' in- 
aged, I was showed into the kitchen to wait. Well, sur, there 
saw a beautiful bit iv bacon hanging in the chimbly-corner. 
T looked at id, your riverince, an' my teeth began to wather. 
I don't know how it was, sur, but I suppose the divil timpted 
me, for I put it into my pocket; but, if you plaze, sur, I'll 
give it to you ; " and he put his hand into his pocket. 

" Give it to me ! " said Father O'Higgins. ''No, certainly 
not: give it back to the owiier of it." 

*' Why, then, your riverince, sur, I offered id to him, and 
he wouldn't take id." 

" Oh ! he wouldn't, wouldn't he ? " said the priest : *' then 
take it home, and eat it yourself, with your family." 

" Tliank your riverince kindly ! " says Terence, " an' I'll 
do that saTiie immediately; but first and foremost, I'll have 
the absolution, if you plaze, sur." 

Terence received absolution, and went home rejoicing 
that he had been able to save his soul and his bacon at the 
aamc time. 



! 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



MR. O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE. 

An amusing scene occurred in Justice Young's court-room 
an evening or two since. Two sons of the " ould sod," full 
of " chain-lightning " and law, rushed in, and, advancing to 
the justice's little law-pulpit at the rear of the court-room, 
both began talking at once. 

" One at a time, if you please," said the Judge. 

"Judge — yer — honor — will I sphake thin?" said one 
of the men. 

" Silence ! " roared his companion. " I am here I Let me 
talk ! Phwat do you know about law? " 

" Keep still yourself, sir," said the judge. " Let him say 
what he wants." 

" Well, I want me naime aff the paiper. That's phwat I 
want," said the man. 

" OS what paper?" said the judge. 

"AVell, aff the paiper: ye ought to know what paiper. 
Sure, ye married me, they say." 

" To whom ? " asked the judge. 

" Some .emale, sir ; and I don't want her, sir. It don't go ! 
and I want me naime aff the paiper." 

" Silence ! " roared the friend, bringing his huge fist down 
upon the little pulpit, just under the judge's nose, with a 
tremendous thwack. " Silence ! I am here. Phwat do you 
know about law ? Sure, yer honor, it was Tim McCloskey's 
wife that he married — his widdy, I mane. You married 
thim, yer honor." 

" And I was dhrunk at the time, sir. Yis, sir ; an' I was 
not a free aigent ; an' I don't know a thing about it, sir — 
devil roawst me. I want me naime aff the paiper — I repu- 
diate, sir." 

" Silence ! Let me spake. Phwat do you know about 
law? " bringing his fist down upon the judge's desk. 

"But I was dhrunk : I was not at the time a free aigent." 

" Silence ! I am here to spake. It does not depind on that 
at all. It depinds — and there is the whole pint, both in law 
and equity — it depinds whether was the woman a sole 
trader or not at the time this marriage was solemnated. 
That is the pint, both in law and equity I " 

"But I was dhi-mik at the time. Divil roawst me if I 



8 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

knowed I was gittin' married. I was not a free aigent. I 
want tlie judge to taik me naime aff the paiper. It don't go." 

The judge tried to exphiin to tlie man that, drunk or sober, 
he was married to the woman fast enough, and, if he wanted 
a divorce, he must go to another court. 

" Divil burn me ! " cried the man, " if I go to another 
court. Ye married me, and ye can uumarry me. Taik me 
naime aff the paiper ! " 

" Silence ! " cried the friend, bringing his fist down in close 
proximity to the judge's nose. *' Phwat do you know about 
law? 1 admit, judge, that he must go to a higher court; 
that is (down comes tiie fist) if the woman can prove (whack) 
that she was at the time the marriage was solemnated 
(whack) a regularly ordained sole thrader (whack). On this 
pint it depinds, both in law and equity." 

" I have had enough of this ! " cried the judge : " I can- 
not divorce you. You are married, and married you must 
remain, for all I can do." 

" Ye won't taik me naime aff the paiper, thin ! " 

" It would not mend the matter," said the judge. 

" Ye won't taik it aff V " 

" No : 1 won't ! "fairly yelled the judge. 

"Silence!" cried the partner, bringing down his fist, and 
raising a cloud of dust under the judge's nose. " It depinds 
whether, at the time, the woman was a regular sole " — 

" Get out of here," cried the judge. " I've had about enough 
of this ! " at the same time rising. 

"Ye won't taik it aff V Very well, thin, I'll go hoam and 
devorce myself. Divil roawst me, I'll fire the thatch ! I 
will" — 

Here he glanced toward the front door: his under jaw 
drooped, he ceased speaking, and in a half-stooping posture 
he went out of the back door of the office like a shot. 

The valiant friend and legal adviser also glanced toward 
the door, when he, too, doubled up and scooted in the foot- 
steps of his illustrious principal. 

A look at the door showed it darkened by a woman about 
six feet in height, and so broad as to v'ill it almost from side 
to side. 

The judge took a look at this mountain of flesh, doubled 
up, and was about to take the back track, but thought better 
of it, and took refuge behind his little law-pul])it. 

The mountain advanced, gave utterance in a sort of inter- 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 9 

nal rumble, and then, amid fire, smoke, and burning lava, 
belched out, — 

" Did I, or did I not, see Michael O'Hoolahan sneak out 
of your back door V " 

" I believe O'Hoolahan is the name of one of the gentlemen 
who just went out," said the judge. 

Advancing upon the pulpit — behind which the judge 
settled lower and lower — the mountain belched, — 

*" Yuu be-e-lave! You know it was Michael O'Hoolahan ! 
Now, what is all this connivin' in here about? Am 1 a 
widdy again ? Did ye talk his naime aff the paiper ? Did 
you talk it a£E ? " 

" N-no," said the judge. 

" Ye didn't? Don't ye decave me ! " 

" No : I give you my word of honor I didn't, couldn't — 
I had no right." 

"It's well for ye ye didn't. I'll tache him to be rinnin' 
about connivin' to lave me a lone widdy agin', whin I'm 
makin' a jintleman of him ! " 

With tliis she sailed back to the door, w^here she turned, 
and, shaking her fist, thus adressed the tip of the judge's 
nose, which alone was visible above the little pulpit, — 

" Now, do you mind that you lave his name on the paiper ! 
I want no meddlin' wid a man wanst I git him. No more 
connivin' I " 



THE LAST OF THE SARPINTS. 

" The serpent, is it ? " said Picket, in reply. " Sure, everj'- 
body has heard tell of the blessed St. Patrick, and how he 
druve the sarpints, and all manner of venomous things, out of 
Ireland — how he bothered all the varmint entirely ; but for all 
that, there was one ould sarpint left, who was too cunning to 
bi; talked out of the country and made to drown himself. St. 
Patrick didn't well know how to manage this fellow, who was 
doing great havoc ; till at last he bethought himself, and got a 
strong iron chest made^ with nine boults upon it. 

" So one fine morning he takes a walk to where the sarpint 
used to keep ; and the sai'pint, who didn't like the Saint in the 
least, — and small blame to him for that, — began to hiss and 
show his teeth at him hke anything. 'Oh,* says St. Patrirk, 
says he, ' where's the use of making such a piece of work about 



10 IRISn DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

8 gentleman, like myself, coming to see you ? — 'tis a nice house 
I have got made for you agin the winter ; for I'm going to civ- 
ilize the whole country, man and beast,' says he, ' and you can 
come and look at it whenever you please, and 'tis myself will be 
glad to see you.' 

*' The sarpint, hearing such smooth words, thought that 
though St. Patrick had druve all the rest of the sarpints into 
the sea, he meant no harm to himself; so the sarpint walks fair 
and easy up to see him and the house he was speaking about. 
But when the sarpint saw the nine great boulls upon the chest, 
he thought he was sould, and waa for making oti' with himself 
as fast as he could. 

" * 'Tis a nice warm house, you see,' says St. Patrick, * and 'tia 
a good friend I am to you.' 

" * 1 thank you, kindly, St. Patrick, for your civilit)',' says 
the sarpint, * but I think it's too small it is for me ; ' meaning it 
for an excuse ; and away he was going. 

" * Too small ! ' says St. Patrick ; ' stop, if you please,' says 
he ; * you're out in that, my boy, anyhow — I am sure 'twill fit 
you completely ; and, I'll tell you what,' says he, ' I'll bet you a 
gallon of porter,' says he, ' tliat if you'll only try and get in, 
there *11 be plenty of room for you.' 

" The sarpint was as tliirsty as he could be with his walk, and 
'twas great joy to him the thoughts of doing St. Patrick out of 
the gallon of porter; so, swelling himself up as big as he could, 
he got into the chest, all but a little bit of his tail. * There, 
now,' says he, * I've won the gallon, for you see the house is too 
small for me, for I can't get in my tail.' When, what does St. 
Patrick do but he comes behind the great heavy lid of the chest, 
and, putting his two hands to it, down he flaps it with a bang 
like thunder. When the rogue of a sarpint saw the lid coming 
down, in went his tail like a shot, for fear of being whipped off 
him, and St. Patrick began at once to boult the nine iron 
boults. 

" ' Oh, murder ! Won't you let me out, St. Patrick ? * says 
the sarpint — * Pve lost the bet fairly, and I'll pay you the gnllcn 
like a man.' 

" * Let you out, my darling P ' says St. Patrick ; ' to be surt 
I will, by all manner of means ; but you see 1 haven't time now, 
60 you inus^t wail till to-morrow.' 

"And so he took the iron chest, with the sarpint in it, and 
pitches it into the lake here, where it is to this hour, for cej^ 
tain; and 'tis the sarpint struggling down at the bottom that 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 11 

makes the waves upon it. Many is the living man," con- 
tinued Picket, " besides myself, has heard the sarpint crying 
out from within the chest under the water, ' Is it to-morrow 
yet ? — is it to-morrow yet P ' which, to be sure, it never can 
be. And that's the way St. Patrick settled the last of tho 
sarpints, sir." 



THE IRISH BOY AND THE PRIEST. 

A PRETTY Irish boy, whose parents went 
By different roads to word and sacrament — 
To mother's church an inclination had, 
But father unto mass would force the lad. 
Yet still the boy to church on Sunday stole, 
And evidenced a wish to save his soul. 
The rector eyed the youth, his zeal approved, 
And gave a Bible, which he dearly loved. 
This made the enraged father storm and curse. 
Lock up the hook, and use his son the worse. 

At length, one Sunday morn, it came to pass, 

The father dragged the struggling boy to mass ; 

The zealous Papists helped to force him in, 

And begged the jjriest to ])ardon all his sin. 

" No, by the mass," he said, " 1 cannot bless 

Nor ])ardon — till the culprit first confess." 

** Well," said the boy, " supjiosing I were willing, 

What is your charge ? " — " Vll charge you but a shilling^ 

"Must all men pay, and all men make confession?" 

*' Yes, every man of Catholic profession." 

" And to whom do you confess ? " — " Why, the dean.** 
" And does he charge you ? " — " Yes, a white thirteen." 
»* And do your deans confess ? " — " Yes, boy, they do 
Confess to bishops, and pay sharply too ! " 
" Do bishops, sir, confess, pay, and to whom ? " 
*♦ Why, they confess, and pay the Church of Rome." 
" Well," quoth the boy, " all this is mighty odd ! — 
But does the Pope confess? " — " Oh, yes — to God." 
"And does God charge the Pope ? "— " No," quoth the priest, 
" He charges nothing." — " Oh, then God 's the best — 
God 's able to forgive, and always willing ; 
To him I shall confess, and save my shilling ! " 



12 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

AN IRISH WAKE. 

Tim Scanlian, while he lived, was only a laboring-man; 
but he was well liked in the country, and it was expected 
that his funeral would be an unusually large gathering. 
Crowds flocked to the wake ; and a great provision of tea, 
whiskey, pipes, and tobacco, had been made. The widow 
occupied her post of honor at the head of the coffin, and 
displayed a fair show of grief, joining in with vociferous 
weeping whenever the "keening" was led by the older 
women. She was young enough to have been the dead 
man's daughter, having coin3 to his house a "slip "of a 
servant-girl, whom he had married, and ruled over very 
masterfully. 

As the night wore on, the whiskey began to tell on those 
outside the room where the corpse lay. The noise increased, 
and soon apparently became loud enough to " wake the 
dead," as the saj^ng is; for, to the consternation and amaze- 
ment of every one present, the defunct, after a deep sigh 
and sundry groans, opened his eyes, and struggled up into 
a sitting posture ! When the startled company had recov- 
ered from the shock, poor Tim was lifted out of the coffin; 
whiskey was liberally poured down his throat; and well 
wrapped up in blankets, and spated in the big chair by the 
fire, he gradually revived from the trance or stupor that 
had been mistaken for death. The last of the guests had 
departed from the cabin ; and Tim, still propped up before 
the fire, was left to the care of his wife. Instead of coming 
near him, however, she slunk olf, cringing timidly away 
into a dark corner behind his chair, whence she directed 
frightened glances at her resuscitated spouse. 

"Mary! " said the man in a stern voice. 

No answer. 

" Are you there ? " peering round, his face quivering with 
anger and ^'eakness. 

" Yes, Tim, I'm here," faltered Mary, without stirring. 

" Bring me my stick ! " 

"Ah, no, Tim! — no I Sure you never rose yer hand to 
me yet! And 'tisn't now, when you're all as one as come 
back from the dead, that " — 

" Bring me my stick ! " 

The stick was brought, and down on her knees beside tho 
big chair flopped the cowering wife. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 13 

"Well you know what you desarve! Well you know, 
you j^oung thief o' the world, that, if I was to take and 
beat you this blessed minute as black as a mourning-coach, 
'twould be only sarving you right, after the mean, dirty, 
shameful turn you've done me ! " 

"It would, it would! " sobbed the girl. 

" Look here ! " gasped Tim, opening his breast, and show- 
ing an old tattered shirt. " Look at thim rags ! Look at 
what you dressed up me poor corpse in, shaming me before 
all the dacent neighbors at the wake ! an' you knowing as 
w6ll as [ did about the elegant brand-new shirt I'd bought 
o' purpose for my berrin; a shirt I wouldn't have put on my 
living back, — no, not if I had gone naked in my skin ! You 
knew I had it there m my chest laid up ; and you grudged 
it to my unfortunate carcass, when 1 couldn't spake up for 
myself ! '' 

" O Tim, darlin', forgive me ! " cried Mary. " Forgive 
me this once, and on my two knees I promise never, never 
to do the likes again ! I don't know what came over me at 
all. Sure I think the divil — Lord save us! — must have 
been at my elbow when I went to get out the shirt, tempt- 
ing me, and whispering that it was a pity and a sin to put 
good linen like that into clay. Oh! how could 1 do it at 
all ? " 

" Now hearken to me, Mary; " and Tim raised the stick, 
and laid it on her shoulder. She knew he wouldn't beat 
her, even if he could with his trembling hands ; but she 
pretended to wince and cower away. "Mind what 1 say: 
as sure as you do me the like turn again, and go for to dress 
me in those undacent rags, I tell you what I'll do, — I'll 
walk!'' 

" Oh, don't, Tim, don't ! " shrieked Mary, as pale as ashes. 
" INIurther me now, if it's plazing to you, or do any thing to 
me you like ; but, for the love of the blessed Yargin and all 
the saints, keep in yer grave! I'll put the new shirt on 
you : my two hands'U starch it, and make it up as white as 
snow, after lying by so long in the old chest. Yer corpse 
will look lovely, niver fear! — and I'll give you the grandest 
wake that iver man had, even if I have to sell the pig, and 
part with every stick in the cabin, to buy the tay and the 
whiskey. I swear to you I will, darlin'. There's my hand 
oti it this blessed night ! " 

-" Well, mind you do, or 'twill be worse for you. And 



14 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

now give me a drop of wather to drink, and put a taste of 
sperrits through it; for I'm like to faint with thirst and 
weakness." 

Mary kept her promise ; for such a wake was never re- 
membered as Tim Scaulian's, when, soon after, the poor mau 
really did depart this life ; and the " get-up " of the " ele-« 
gant brand-new shirt" in which the corpse was arrayed was 
the admiration of all beholders. 



BIDDY'S PHILOSOPHY. 

What would I do if you was dead ? 

And when do you think of dying? 
I'd stand by your bed, and hold your head. 

And cry, or pretind to be crying ! 
There's many a worser man nor you — 

If one knew where to find him — 
And mebbe many a better, too, 

With money to leave behind him ! 
But you, if I was dying to-day, 

(I saw you now when you kissed her !) 
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at — 

You'd marry your widdy's sister! 

YoTi*d make an illigant corpse, indade, 

Sleeping so sound and stiddy ; 
If you could see yourself a»s you laid, 

You'd want to come back to Biddy ! 
You would be dressed in your Sunday bes , 

As tidy as I could make you, 
With a sprig of something on your breast, 

And the boys would come to wake you. 
But you, if 1 was dead in your stead, 

(Do you think I never missed her?) 
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at — 

You'd marry your widdy's sister! 

The undertaker would drive the hearse 
That has the big black feather ; 

If there was no money left in your purse, 
Youi' friends would club together. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 15 

They'd look at your cold remains before 

They followed you down to the ferry, 
And the coaches standing at the door 

Would go to the cemetery. 
But you, if J was once in the box, 

(I wonder her lips don't blister !) 
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at — 

You'd marry your widdy's sister ! 

When you was under the sod I'd sigh, 

And — if I could do without you — 
Mebbe I've a strapping lad in my eye 

Would come here and talk about you. 
A little courtin' would be divertin', 

A kind voice whispering " Biddy ! " 
And a kiss on the sly — for what's the hurt in 

A man consoling a widdy ? 
But you, before I was dead at all, 

(Now don't deny that you kissed her !) 
I tell you, Pat, what you'd be at — 

You'd marry your widdy's sister ! 

R. H. Stoddard. 



REFLECTIONS ON THE NEEDLE. 

So that's Cleopathera's Needle, bedad. 

An' a square lookin' needle it is, I'll be bound ; 

What a powerful muscle the queen must have had 
That could grasp such a weapon an' wind it around! 

Imao^ine her sittin' there stitchin' like mad 

Wid a needle like that in her hand! I declare 

It's as big as the Round Tower of Slane, an', bedad. 
It would pass for a round tower, only it's square! 

The taste of her, ordherin' a needle of o^ranite! 

Begorra, the sight of it sthrikes me quite dumb! 
An' look at the quare sort of figures upon it; 

I wondher can these be the tracks of her thumb ? 

I once w^as astonished to hoar of the faste 
Cleopathera made upon pearls ; but now 

I declare, I would not be surprised in the laste 
If ye told me the woman had swallowed a cow! 



16 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

lt\ aisy to see why bould Cgesar should quail 
In her presence an' meekly submit to her rule ; 

Wid a weapon like that in her fist I'll go bail 

She could frighten the sowl out of big Finn MacCool ! 

But, Lord, what poor pigmies the women are now. 

Compared with the monsthers they must have been then! 

Whin the darlin's in those days would kick up a row. 
Holy smoke, but it must have been hot for the men! 

Just think how a chap that goes courtin' would start 
If his girl was to prod him with that in the shins! 

I have often seen needles, but boldly assart 

That the needle in front of me there takes the pins! 

O, sweet Cleopathera! I am sorry you're dead; 

An' whin laving this wontherful needle behind 
Had ye thought of bequathin' a spool of your thread 

An' yer thimble an' scissors, it would have been kind. 

But pace to your ashes, ye plague of great men, 

Yer strenth is departed, yer glory is past; 
Ye'll never wield sceptre or needle again. 

An' a poor little asp did yer bizzness at last! 

CoKiiAC O'Leary. 



THE RED O'NEIL. 

High over Galway's stormy tide, in years that long have 

flown, 
A grim and gloomy castle raised its mass of sombre stone : 
The sullen flood tiat by it rolled was not more dark and 

drear. 
And when its great, black portals swung, the land was full 

of fear. 

Its chieftain was the Red O'Neil, a warrior bnave and bold. 
But hate's fierce longing filled his heart and made it hard 

and cold; - 

And when his plume and banner flew along the restless 

seas. 
The bitter wailing of his foes rose through the rising breeze. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 17 

His keen sword never proved untrue, his lance was sharp 

and sure; 
His stout ship braved the roughest blast, his horse the 

wildest moor ; 
The Saxon maidens shrank in dread when echoed through 

the hall 
His wrathful name, and warriors sprang where swords 

hung on the wall. 

Not long had Red O'Neil's bright sword been bitter to the 

foe — 
Not long his fiery soul had grown unheeding of their woe — 
But now the sanguine flame that glowed along his foray's 

path. 
Shone with the lurid light that told a never-dying wrath. 

Bright as the golden light that gleams among the morning 

mist. 
Was Lady Nora's yellow hair, when by the sunlight kissed ; 
The lustrous glory of her eyes, blue as a clear June sky. 
Was rich with all the tenderness that gives love sweet 

reply. 

The dainty color of her lips, the fairness of her face. 

The clinging of her little hand, her womanhood's pure 

grace. 
The music of her ringing voice, the gladness of her mien. 
Had made the Red O'Neil bow low, and claim her as his 

queen. 

Beyond the stern and barren lands along the foaming sea, 
Whose tempest-waves swept fiercely \\^ from many a wide 

degree. 
Through plains all rich with bending wheat the rapid river 

flowed, 
And by the forest's dusky aisles its sunlit water glov/ed. 

The far hills looming to the sky shone in the opal haze, 
And robins sang their merry songs in all the orchard ways; 
The harvesters were in the fiekl, and herds with tinkling 

bells. 
Stood knee-deep in the fragrant grass that clothed the 

southward dells. 



18 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Then proud with floating banners, and lances keen and 

strong, 
A brave array of steel-clad knights up from the eastward 

throng ; 
King Henry's Saxon warriors sweep on with ruthless 

speed. 
And death and ruin show the track of every snorting steed. 

The Lady Nora's couchant hound, gi'owls as he hears the 

clash 
Of crossing swords, and spears that swift through shining 

bucklers crash; 
Then springs to meet the knight, whose foot falls heavy on 

the stair, 
While his fair mistress stands at bay, di'aped in dishevelled 

hair. 

Woe ! to the cruel hand that dealt such hard and dastard 

blow ; 
For down the broad stone steps, the streams of red blood 

slowly flow ; 
And close beside her faithful hound the Lady Xora lies; 
Death's chill has stilled his loyal heart; death's cold has 

dimmed her eyes. 

They brought the tidings to O'Neil. Out sprang his gleam- 
ing blade. 

And quick a thousand stalwart men for battle stood ar- 
rayed ; 

Then swift along the river bank the clattering horses sped. 

Their guides the ruined cottages, and peasants stark and 
dead. 

For years, upon a lonely moor, heaped round with mossy 

stones, 
Wiis seen a ghastly gathering of white and crumbling 

bones. 
It marked the place where Red O'Xcil rushed on De Courcy's 

spears. 
And gave the Saxon maids and wives a heritage of tears. 

The level lances grimly shone, and plumes were flying 
wide. 

And then O'NeiFs wild warriors charged, a shouting, surg- 
ing tide i 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 19 

And back and forth the mad ranks swayed, till in the hot- 
test fray, 

O'Neil and his black charger barred De Courcy's onward 
way. 

The serried lines fell back, and left a naiTow circle clear, 

And firm each chieftain's strong hand grasped his battle- 
crimsoned spear; 

Then spurring on their fiery steeds, they charge each other 
home. 

And stont De Courcy's shattered mail grows red with 
bloody foam. 

Then fled his knights, and carnage reigned. The dead lay 

white and still 
Along the moor, and in the wood, and on the wind-swept 

hill. 
Not one was left to tell how fierce and fell had been the 

fight. 
But blazing castles told the tale amid the gloom of night. 

The Lady Nora slept in peace, but vengeance in her name 
Shone on the sea, and lit the land with many a baleful 

flame ; 
The terror of the Saxon lords, the chief with keenest steel. 
And hand as tireless as his hate, was her liege-knight, 

O'Neil. 

King Henry's warriors could not curb his red, destructive 
course. 

And for long years his castle's wall braved all their mail- 
clad force ; 

He fought them till his hair was white, and weak and slow 
his breath, 

And free, and dreaded by his foes, sank slowly into death. 

Oh! would that Erin's cause now had ten thousand souls as 

strong. 
Swayed, not l3y hate, but high resolve and scorn of kingly 

wrong ; 
Then would the beacon fires of hope light up the purple 

sky, 
And from the hills, the Emerald flag of Erin's freedom fly J 

ThOS. S. COLllEK. 



20 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



DEAF AND DUMB. 

Oh, a wiM little slip was yoima: Kitty IMcRea! 

So saucy and daring, so dimpled and sweet; 
A foot of the lightpst. a hand of the whitest, 

She brought the whole village to sue at her feet. 

Gay Kitty was guarded and kept like a nun : 

She'd greet you demurely, the whole world might see. 

She wore a prim shaker, and dressed like a Quaker, 
And 'neath all disguises was — Kitty McRea ! 

There came to the town a professor of ink, 

A dashing young penman : he published his plan ; 

Declared himself willing to give for a shilling 
A lesson to any child, woman, or man. 

To their sense of compassion he wisely appealed : 

He was deaf, he was dumb, — would they give him theil 
mite ? 

Papas read with pleasure, and cried, " "What a treasure ! 
There'll be no love-making while learning to write." 

The maidens flocked eagerly into the hall : 
The teacher began his instructions with glee; 

Though some had a notion he showed more devotion 
To Kitty than might have pleased father McKea. 

The handsome young teacher was freely discussed : 

" Such lovely, sad eyes ! '' The girls voted it " mean." 

*' Such a pity ! I'd just like to kiss him ! " said Kitty. 
" Youmaij!''' he said softly. Imagine the scene! 

Kitty fainted ; then fled, with her cheeks all aflame. 

They met in the garden that night after tea: 
Well pleased with his hoaxing, the lad turned to coaxing,—' 

"Pray do not be angry, dear Kitty IMcRea! " 

Who now was so bashful as Kitty INIcKea, 

The saucy and daring, the dimpled and sweet? 

Without further parley, behold the flnale, — 

Gay Kitty soon wedded this deaf and-dumb cheat. 

AkNA F. BUKNIIAM. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 21 

MR. MURPHY EXPLAINS HIS SON'S 
CONDUCT. 

That boy, do ye mind, isn't yet seventeen, 

Ye\l imagine in tricks of the world lie was green; 

He'd alwa3^s such gintle and innocent ways 

He made me belave him as good as you plaze, 

An' now I find oat that for three months at laste. 

That boy's been indulgin' his love-making taste. 

It's Nora McCarty, the daughter of Tim, 

Who seems to possess an attraction for him. 

Tile two are about of the same age and size. 

She's a daoent young thing, wid a pair of black eyes 

Th:it twinkle and seem to be laughin' when sure 

The rest of her face looks extremely demure. 

Though she's elegant teeth to be shown by a smile, 

An' her black hair is banged in American style. 

An' in truth, altogether, she looks mighty fine. 

For to be makin' love wid that Johnny of mine. 

Sure I'd never have found out the sacret from him. 

But I learned it by going to call upon Tim; 

The nigiit it was dark — 'twas a little past eight — 

An', as quietly walking I came to the gate, 

I heard whispered talkin', an' afther, a sound 

Like a fat comin' out o' the mud. I looked round. 

An' beheld the young lovers in hivenly bliss. 

He'd his arm round her waist au' was takin' a kiss. 

Well, I sazed the young rogue be the ear, and sea I : 

" Now what are yez doin'? " He tried to reply. 

I hollered : "Hi! not a dang word from yer head: 

Ye jist thravel home an' go right to yer bed. 

An' for you, miss — "I said — I was thrying to look 

An' spake very sternly, by way of rebuke — 

" You know that your father an' mother'd be wild 

If they were to learn of this thrick of their child." 

An' thin Nora spoke an' I thought I could hear 

A sound in her voice that was much like a tear; 

"Oh, plaze, Mr. Murphy, forgive us, you might. 

It's my fault, not Johnny's." Bedad, she was right! 

But I tried to look stern, an' I said " It is sad 

That two children like you should be actin' so bad; 

An' 1 niver must hear of such actions airin! 



22 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Now you, Johnny, go liomo, :in'yoii, Norfl, run in. 
They ran, I should rightly have taken a shtick 
An' have bate the young divil to pay for the thrick. 
But indade T can't blame him for kissin' the elf, 
Be me love of ouid Ireland, Td do it meself! 



A RAM FOR OULD OIRELAND. 

Mr. Patrick Mulcahey made a morning call upon the 
Widow O'Flaherty at lier castle on the rocks in the upper 
part of this city. He was attired in his best^ and the pre- 
liminaries of politeness between the distinguished guest and 
the superb chatelaine were all that the occasion could call for. 

"I kem to ax yez," then remarked the Mulcahey, "phwat 
ye're willin' to do for the cause this mornin'." 

" Phwat cause is that, now, Misther jSlulcahey ? " 

" An' phwat should it be, mim, but the cause av ould Oire- 
land?" 

"Sure, an' Fm gettin' toired, sor. IMany's the dime an' 
many's the dollar Pve paid in till the cause; but still they do 
be siiootiii' an' hangin' the byes, an' the bloodhy Saxin gits 
fat on the best blood av ould Oireland." 

" It won't be fur long now, Misthress O'Flaherty. "NVe're 
raisin' a fund to pay fur a ram." 

" A ram is it V An' phwat wud yez be doin' wid a ram ? " 

"A ram, Misthress O'Flaherty, wud butt theshtuffin' out 
av the biggest ironclad that iver floated, an' sink the British 
navy quicker'n a thirsty man wud take a driuk, an' shwape 
the bloodhy Saxin from the says." 

" It's a quare notion intoirely, sor. Is it a ram that wud 
shwim in the say? '' 

" In the say, and over the say, an' undherthe say, Misthress 
O'Flaherty. An' thin, mim, it's so aisy to kape, wance we 
git it. Only a coal-oil can. as I may say." 

" Thrue for yez, Mr. Mulcahey. Or a tematy can, or anny 
other kind av a can, wid a few yards av thayater bills for a 
lunch." 

*' Phwat will yez give, thin, INIisthress O'Flaherty ?" 

*' If it's a ram will do the wurruk, sor, I'll take the whole 
ixpinse ou mesilf." 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 23 

** The whole ixpinse ? Do yez know phwat ye're sayin', 
mim ? "' 

" Throth an' I do, sor. I'll giv the last bit av propherty I've 
got to the cause av ould Oireland. I'll giv yez Teddy, me 
own billy-goat, the pride av Shantytown ; an' I pity the Saxin 
that wud shtand forneust him. Look at him, sor, as he climbs 
the rocks I By the same token, Misther Mulcahey, ye'd bet- 
ter shlip quietly dune the back way, as Teddy has set his 
two eyes on yez, and he'd butt the last board off the shanty 
but phwat he'd git at yez." 

As Mr. Mulcahey tumbled down the cliff, the idJiv chatelaine 
consoled him with a promise to keep the ram until he should 
call for it. 



THE GRIDIRON. 



The Captain, Patrick, and the Frenchman. 

Patrick. Well, captain, whereabouts in the wide world are 
we ? Is it Uoosia, Proosia, or the t Jarmant Oceant ? 

Captain. Tut, you fool ! it's France. 

Patrick. Tare an' ouns! do you tell me so? and how do 
you know it's France, captain dear ? 

Captain. Because we were on the coast of the Bay of Bis- 
cay when the vessel was wrecked. 

Patrick. Throth, I was thinkin' so myself. And now, cap- 
tain jewel, it is I that wishes we had a gridiron. 

Captain. Why, Patrick, what puts the notion of a gridiron 
into your head ? 

Patrick. Because I'm starving with hunger, captain dear. 

Captain. Surely you do not intend to eat a gridiron, do 
you? 

Patrick. Ate a gridiron ! bad luck to it ! no. But if we 
had a gridiron, we could dress a beefsteak. 

Captain. Yes; but where's the beefsteak, Patrick? 

Patrick. Sure, couldn't we cut it off the pork? 

Captain. I never thought of that. You are a clever fellow, 
Patrick. {Laughing.) 

Patrick. There's many a thrue word said in joke, cap- 
tain. And now, if you will go and get the bit of pork that 
we saved from the wrack, I'll go to the house there beyant, 
and ax some of them to lind me the loan of a gridiron. 



24 77?7.S'// DTALECT RECITATIONS. 

Captain. But, Patrick, this is France, and thpy are nil -for- 
eigners here. 

Patrick. Well, and how do you know but I am as good a 
furriner myself as any o' them ? 

Captain. AVhat do you mean, Patrick? 

Patrick. Parley voo f rongsay ? 

Captain. Oh ! you understand French, then, is it? 

Patrick. Throth, you may say that, captain dear. 

Captain. AA^ell, Patrick, success to you. Be civil to the 
foreigners, and Pll be back with the pork in a minute. 

[//e f/oes out. 

Patrick. Ay, sure enough, Pll be civil to them; for the 
Frinch are always mighty j^'lite intirely, and I'll .show them 
1 know what good maimers is. Indade, and here comes 
munseer himself, quite convaynient. (As the Frerichman en- 
ters, Patrick takes off his hat, and, making a low how, says ;) 
God save you, sir, and all your children. 1 beg your pardon 
for the liberty I take, but it's only being in disthress in re- 
gard of ating, that I make bowld to trouble ye ; and if you 
could lind me the loan of a gridiron, I'd be intirely obleeged 
to ye. 

Frenchman (starinr/ at him). Comment! 

Patrick. Indade, it's thrue for you. Pm fathered to paces, 
and God knows 1 look quare enough ; but it's by rason of 
the storm that dhruv us ashore jist here, and we're all 
starvin'. 

Frenchman. Je m'y t — (pronounced zhe meet). 

Patrick. Oh ! not at all ! by no manes ! we have plenty of 
mate ourselves, and we'll dhress it, if you'd be ])lased jist 
to lind us the loan of a gridiron, sir. (Making a low how.) 

Frenchman (staring at him, hut not understanding a word). 

Patrick. I beg pardon, sir; l)ut maybe Pm undher a mis- 
take, but I thought I was in France, sir. Ain't you all furri- 
ners here? Parley voo f rongsay? 

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur. 

Patrick. Then, would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, 
if you plase? (The Frenchman stares more than ever, as if 
anxious to im deist and.) I know it's a liberty I take, sir, but 
it's only in the regard of beiu' cast away; and if you plase, 
sir, parley voo frongsay ? 

Frenchman Oui, monsieur, oui. 

Patrick. Then would you lind me the loan of a gridiron, 
sir, and you'll obleege me ? 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 25 

Frenchman. Monsieur, pardon, monsieur, — 

Patrick (angrily). By my sowl, if it was you was in dis- 
thress, and if it was to owld Ireland you came, it's not only 
the gridiron they'd give you, if you axed it, but something 
to put on it too, and a dhrop of dhrink into the bargain. 
Can't you understand your own language? (Very slowly.) 
Parley — voo — frongsay — munseer? 

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur ; oui, monsieur, mais — 

l^alrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, I say, and 
bad scram to you. 

Frenchman (bowing and scraping). Monsieur, je ne I'en- 
tend — 

Patrick. Phoo! the divil sweep yourself and your long 
tongs! I don't want a tongs at all, at all. Can't you listen 
to rason ? 

Frenchman. Oui, oui, monsieur : certainement, mais — 

Patrick. Then lind me the loan of a gridiron, and howld 
your prate. (The Frenchman shakes his head, as if to say he 
did not understand : but Patrick, thinking he meant it as a 
refusal, says, in a passion): Bad cess to the likes o' you! 
Throth, if you were in my counthry, it's not that-a-way 
they'd use you. The curse o' the crows on you, you owld 
sinner! The divil another word Pll say to you. (The 
Frenchman puts his hand on his heart, and tries to express com- 
passion in his countenance.) Well, I'll give you one chance 
more, you owld thafe ! Are you a Christhian, at all, at all? 
Are you a furriner that all the world calls so p'lite? Bad 
luck to you ! Do you understand your mother tongue ? Par- 
ley voo frongsay? (Very loud.) Parley voo frongsay? 

Frenchman. Oui, monsieur, oui, oui. 

Patrick. Then, thunder and turf ! will you lind me the 
loan of a gridiron? (The Frenchman shakes his head, as if he 
did not understand i and Pat says vehemently :) The curse of 
the hungry be on you, you owld negarly villain ! the back 
of my hand and .the sowl of my fut to you ! May you want 
a gridiron yourself yet! And wherever I go, it's high and 
low, rich and poor, shall hear of it, and be hanged to you ! 

William B. Fowle. 



26 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



THE '^O'MEARA CONSOLIDATED." 

" They met by chance, the usual way," among the daugh- 
ters of the wife of Adam. Said the one neighbor unto the 
other, — 

"Good-mornin' till ye, iNIrs. O'Meara." 

Said the other unto the one, — 

" Thank ye kindly, good-niomin', Mrs. McCracken. Yer 
lookin' well this mornin'." 

" Och, but it's kind ways ye have, Mrs. O'lNfeara : ye'd be 
spakin' the cheerin' words \i ye saw a poor body wid a fut 
in the grave. But I'm far from feelin' well : it's the ould 
distress in me chist, dear. It's airly ye're abroad the day, 
Mrs. O'Meara, but ye're always so industrious an' drivin'." 

" Ye flatther me, Mrs. McCracken ; but it's only in drivin' 
that there's ony thrivin* at these times — wid God's blessiu', 
av course." 

" Thrue fer ye, Mrs. O'lMeara ; an' thruly it's snug ye air 
at home now, mainin' but the honest words I shpake, an' no 
flatthery." 

" Wid the blessin' o' God we're doin' fairly, — fairly, Mrs. 
McCracken." 

"I w^ush I could get the saycret, Mrs. O'^Ieara. Afy 
IMichael works ivery blessed day in the mines, but nothin' 
stays wid us." 

" Do you collect assissments, INIrs. IMcCracken ? " 

" Assissments, Mrs. O'Meara? what would I be doin* wid 
collectin' assissments ? Bad cess to it, woman : it's the other 
way wid us ; for JNIichael he do be payin' assissments on this 
an' on that, ivery blessed month almost." 

" An' where does he pay them, dear?" 

" To the broker-shops, sure : where else would he pay thim, 
Mrs. O'Meara? " 

"Why, to yourself, darlin'." 

"To me, Mrs O'Meara?" 

" To yourself I Where else should he be payin' thim ? " 

"What for would he be payin' assissments to me? " 

" What for does my Patrick pay assissments to me, but 
because I livil 'em on him, my dear?" 

"On him? An' wliat is it for, darlin'?" 

"It's lor the stock he holds in the corporation, dear, — the 
interest he has in the O'Meara Consolidated. Do ye under- 
fihtaud that now, — the O'M-e-ara Con-shol-idated V " 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 27 

" What would that be, dear? " 

"Oiigiiially it was Patrick O'jMeara and Nora INIcCue, but 
was incorporated as the O'Meara Consolidated in 1865; first 
issue of stock in 1865, wid a new issue ivery two years since. 
It's what they call a close corporation, I belave; and 1 am 
both President and Board of Directhors, hold the controlling 
intrust, and livil assissnient." 

" I don't understand it at all, Mrs. O'Meara. An' what 
is that ye livil assissnients on, dear?" 

"On the stock, to be sure, woman, — on the live stock, do 
ye see? six shares now." 

" Do you mane the childer? " 

"What else would 1 mane? I'll tell ye, dear, for I see 
yer wits are wool-gatherm'. Ye see, for a long- time Path- 
rick was buyin' this wild cat, an' that wild cat, an' all the 
cats was liviiin' assissments, an' he a-payin' 'em an' kapin' us 
all at the point of shtarvation. 1 saw how things was goin', 
so I jist brought out on him the home incoi-poration ; an' I 
says to him, ' Here now, sir, is the O'Meara Consolidated, 
a square location, secured by a patent, wid but six shares iii 
it, an' showin' well as far as developed; now I livil on it my 
first assissment of twinty dollars a share.' Says he, ' Nora, 
ye're wus nor the wild cats : ye take me whole month's 
wages ! ' — ' Thrue,' says I ; ' and I'll honestly spind ivery cint 
in improvements for the benefit of the company.' " 

"An' did he shtand the assissment, i\Irs. O'Meara?'* 

"He did, for he thought it a good joke at first; an' for 
two or three months he paid like a man." 

" Thin he quit payiu" V " 

"He did." 

"An' what thin, INIrs. O'Meara?" 

" I sould him out." 

" Sould him out ! How could you sell him out? " 

"Well, dear, he had due and legal notice. I first of all 
tould him it would be delinquent on such a day in the board ; 
thin that it was advertised delinquent, an' that such a time 
would come the day o' sale. He thought it was a good joke, 
but when he kem home that even in' he had no supper. I 
didn't cook a warm male in a month : I sint a lot o' furni- 
ture to the auction, an' cut him off in ivery way in his home 
comforts." 

" An' what then, dear? " 

"He never since refused to pay his regular assissments." 



28 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

"Och, it's a wise -woman ye air, Mrs. O'Meara. Good- 
morniu' till ye; an' wid the help o' God I'll incorporate the 
McCracken Consolidated this blissed day, an' livil nie first 
assissment before 1 resht me haid on me piily the night." 

Virginia City Enterprise* 



PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS. 

About fifty years since, in the days of onr daddies, 

That plan was commenced which the wise now applaud, 
Of shipping ofi' Ireland's most turbulent Paddies, 

As good raw materials for settlers abroad. 
Some West India island, whose name I forget. 

Was the region then chose for this scheme so romantic ; 
And such the success the first colony met. 

That a second soon after set sail o'er the Atlantic. 
Behold them now safe at the long looked for shore, 

Sailing between banks that the Shannon might greet. 
And thinking of friends wliom, but two years before. 

They had sorrowed to lose, but would soon again meet. 
And hark, from the shore a glad welcome there came — 

" Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet boy?" 
While Pat stood astounded to hear"^his own name 

Thus huzzaed by blackey. who capered for joy! 
Can it possibly be? Half amazement, half doubt: 

Pat listens again — rubs his eyes and looks steady; 
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror jndls out, 

" Father's blood ! only think, black and curly already ! " 
Deceived by that well mimicked brogue in his ears, 

Pat read his own doom in those wool-headed figures, 
And thought, what a climate, in less than two years 

To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers. 
Tis thus, but alas, by a marvel more true 

Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories — 
Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two, 

By a lusvx natures, all turn into Tories. 
And thus when I hear them "strong measures" advise, 

Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get steady, 
I say, wliile I listen witJi tears in my f^yf^s^, 

" Father's blood! only think, black and curly already." 

MbORE. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 29 



THE ^A;'IDOW O'SHANE'S RENT. 

WniST, there ! Mary Murphy, doan think me insane, 
But I'm dyin' ter tell ye of Widder O'Shane; 
She as lives in the attic nixt mine, doan ye know, 
An' does the foine washin' fer ould Misther Schnow. 

Wid niver a chick nor a child ter track in, 

Her kitchen is always as nate as a pin ; 

An' her cap an' her apron is always that clane — 

Och, a moighty foine gurrel is the Widder O'Shane. 

An' wud ye belave me, on Sathurday night 
We heard a rough stip comin' over our flight; 
An' iNIike, me ould man, he jist hollered to me, 
*'Look out av the door an' see who it nioight be.'* 

An' I looked, Mary Murphy, an' save me if there 
AVusn't Thomas Mahone on the uppermost stair ! 
(He's the lan'lord . ye've seen him yerself, wid a cane), 
An' he knocked on the door of the Widder O'Shane. 

An' I whispered to INIichael, " Xow what can it mane 
That his worship is calling on Widder O'Shane? " 
(Rint day comes a Friday with us, doan ye see. 
So I knew that it wusn't collictin' he'd be.) 

" It must be she owes him some money fer rint, 
Though the neighbors do say that she pays to the cint. 
You take care of the baby, ^lichael Brady," says I, 
" An' I'll pape through the keyhole, I will, if I die." 

The howly saints bliss me ! what shudn't I see 
But the Widder O'Shane sittin' pourin' the teal 
An' the landlord wus there — Misther Thomas Ma- 
hone — 
A-sittin' one side ov the table alone. 

An' he looked at the Widder O'Shane, an' sez he, 
" It's a privilege great that ye offer ter me ; 
Fer I've not sat down by a woman's side 
Since 1 sat by her that I once called me bride. 



30 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

An' is it ye're poor now, Widder O'Shane? 
Ye're a dacent woman, tidy an' clane ; 
An' we're both av lis here in the world alone — 
Wud ye think of unitin' wid Thomas Mahone ? " 

Then the Widder O'Shane pnt the tea-kettle down, 
An' she sez, " Misther Thomas, yer name is a crown, 
I take it most gladly " — An' then me ould man 
Hollered, " Bridget, cum in here quick as yer can 1" 

So then, Mary IMurphy, T riz off that floor, 
An' run into me attic, an' bolted the door; 
An' I sez to me IMichael, " Now, isn't it mane? 
She'll have no riiit to pay, will that Widder O'Shane I 



WHY BIDDY AND PAT GOT MARRIED* 

" Oh, why did you marry him, Biddy? 

Why did you take Pat for your spouse ? 
Sure, he's neither purty nor witty; 

And his hair is as red as a cow's. 
You might had your pick, had you waited: 

You'd done a dale better with Tim; 
And Phelim O'Toole was expectin' ; 

You couldn't do better, nor him. 
You talk of us youug people courtin': 

Pray tell how your courtin' began, 
When you w^ere a widdy woman, 

And he was a widdy man." 

" Tim and Pat, miss, you see, was acquainted 

Before they came over the sea. 
When Pat was a courtin' Norah, 

And Tim was a-courtin' me. 
She did not know much, the poor Norah; 

Nor, for that matter, neither did Pat; 
He had not the instinct of some one ; 

But no one had then told him that. 
But he soon found it out for himself,— 

For life at best's but a span, — 
When I was a widdy woman. 

And he was a widdy man. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 31 

** I helped him to take care of Norah ; 

And, when he compared her with me, 
He saw, as he whispered one evening, 

What a woman one woman could be. 
She went out like the snuff of a candle: 

Then the sickness seized upon Tim, 
And we watched by his bedside together; 

It was such a comfort to him ! 
I was not alone in my weeping ; 

Our tears in the same channel ran : 
For I was a widdy woman, 

And he was a widdy man. 

" We had both had our troubles, mavourneen^ 

Though neither, perhaps, was to blame ; 
And we both knew by this what we wanted, 

And were willing to pay for the same. 
We knew what it was to be married; 

And, before the long twelvemonth had flown, 
We had made up our minds it was better 

Not to live any longer alone. 
We wasted no time shilly-shally, 

Like you, miss, and Master Dan j 
For I was a widdy woman, 

And he was a widdy man." 



DON SQUIXET'S GHOST. 

" Well, now, spakin' o' Father Doyle, reminds me of the 
time whin I fust dug his peaytees for him ; let me see ; I'm 
sure I don't know how many years agone, now ; but faix, 'tis 
meself was only a big lump of a gurrul thin. Oah ! but I'll 
niver forget that day, if I lives to be as ould as Buckley's goat. 

" Me and Biddy Morrissy were digging his rivirince's peay- 
tees, — 'twas about tin o'clock in the morning, — and turning 
up the painted ladies as purty as iver you see, whin along come 
the ould rousther, and a half a dozen hens wid him, strutting 
along, and pecking the peaytees like fine fellows j and 'twas 



32 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

niver a bit of use in uz sayin' * whist ! ' for there the oiild hay- 
then 'ud peck and peck, scratch and scratch, till says I, ' Me 
boy, I'll soon see whether or no me or you is the better man ; 
so I ups wid a big lump of a peaytee and laves 'im have it in 
the eye ; and over he goes, flipperty-flap, as dead as a herring. 

" * Och, mallia ! ' says Biddy, says she ; * now, Kitty, you may 
go and hang yerself,' says she, ' fur his riv'rince '11 niver forgive 
ye kilhn' that bird,' says she, half-frightened out of her wits. 

" ' Faix, I don't care,' says I. ' What business had he peckin' 
the peaytees, thin ? ' says I, all of a trimble. 

" ' Oh,' says she, ' you'll know what ; and, by the same token, 
here comes himself now ; and you'd better dig a hole as quick 
as you can, and pitch the ould rousther in it,' says she. 

" So I looks round, and, sure enough, there was his riv'rince 
walking slowly towards us, in the trench, wid a pinch of snuff 
betune his finger and thumb, lookin' to the one side and the 
other. Well, begannies, it wasn't long I was digging a hole, 
and covering up the ould rousther in it, and scatteriu' the peay- 
tees over the place ; and thin I felt as guilty as if it was a man 
I murdered. By and by himself comes along ; me heart was 
thumping away inside ; ye could hear it a mile off, as one may say. 

" His riv'rince talked about the weather, and the peaytees, and 
this and that, and there was his fut widin a yard of the place. 

" ' Honey,' says he, ' you shouldn't lave the hens be after peck- 
ing the peaytees ! ' says he ; ' they'll spoil more than they're 
worth,' says he. 

" ' Humph ! 'tis meself can't keep 'em away,' says I. 

" ' Oh, botheration ! but you must drive 'em away,' says he. 

" * Faix, they won't stay druv,' I sez. 

" ' Why, then, Kitty,' says he, ' my honey,' says he, * you must 
knock 'em down,' says he. 

" ' Oh, wisha, good-morrow to ye, Father Doyle,' says I. 

•' ' Why so ? ' says he. 

•' ' Is it knock 'em down ? ' says I. 

" ' Yes,' says he, ' it is.' 

" ♦ Humph ! ' says I ; * if I did that same, maybe yer riv'rince 'ud 
niver forgive me for doing av it ! ' says I, 

" ' Yes, 1 would, honey ; why not ? ' says he. 

•' ' What, if I killed one of yer liens ? ' says I. 

** ' Did I say kill ?' says he; 'I said, knock 'em down, that's all.' 

" ' Hah, yer riv'rince,' says I, ' I'm thinkin' I won't thry it ! * 

*' Oh, didn't I feel as if 1 wasn't spakin' the trutli to Inm ! 
Humph ! ' uays he, lookin' round, and takin' a pinch of 



ii ( 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 33 

enufF ; ' it surprises me not to see Don Squixet here, any way ; 

he's always the first into mischief, and the last to lave it.' 

" Dad, thinks I to meself, if he means the ould rousther, he's 
the fust to lave it this time, any way. ' But,' says I, ' and who's 
Don Squixet ? ' I axes, wid me heart into me mouth. 

" ' Ha ! that's what I call the ould cock,' says he ; ' but the 
rascal is up to some mischief now, I go bail, or he'd be here,' 
says Father Doyle. 

" Well, whether to down on me two knees (savin' yer pris- 
ence) an'd confess all, or lave him to find it out, I didn't know ; 
when all to once the peaytees right furnenst us begun to move, 
and roll the one over the other. 

" ' Oah ! what's that, Kitty ? ' cries Father Doyle. * Be the 
powers, there's something coming up through the yearth ! ' 

" Faix, 'twas meself thought I'd sink down through it ; for 
just then up comes the head of the ould rousther himself, bad 
scran to him, lookin' round to make out where he was. Awe ! 
I couldn't tell yees how I felt. I fell down on me knees, and 
axed his riv'rince to forgive a poor crayter the sin av it. But, 
by and by, when the ould scamp got up and shuck himself, and 
clapped his wings, and crowed, be dad, I thought his riv'rince 
would split laughing, as well as Biddy. And when Father 
Doyle could spake, says he, wiping his eyes wid his kurcher, 
* Kitty,' says he, ' always be sure a body 's dead,' says he, * be- 
fore you inters it,' he says. ' But see now, if you kill any av 
'em outright, another time,' says he, 'just bring the remains to 
me,' he says, ' and we'll have a dish of broth out of it, anyway,' 
says he. And wid that, he set up a-laughin' again, and walked 
off, shakin' his sides ; and I s'pose, if he told that story once, 
he did the Lord knows how many times. But he niver seed 
me, to this day, but he alius axed when I seen Don Squixet's 
Ghost last." Harry Bolingbroke. 



MR. O'GALLAGHER'S THREE ROADS TO 
LEARNING. 

ADAPTED FROM "PERCIVAL KEENE.'* 

Mr. O'Gallagher sat upon his throne. I say "throne," 
because he had not a desk, as schoolmasters generally have, 
but a sort of square dais about eighteen inches high, on 
which was placed another oblong superstructure of the 
same height, serving him for a seat : both parts were cov- 



34 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

ered with some patched and torn old drugget ; and npon snb- 
sequent examination I found them to consist of three old 
claret-cases without covers, which he had probably picked 
up very cheap, two of them turned upside down so as to 
form the lower square, and the third placed in the same 
way, upside down, upon the two lower. Mr. O' Gallagher 
sat in great dignity upon the upper one, with his feet on the 
lower, being thus sufficiently raised upon an eminence to 
command a view of the whole of his pupils in every part of 
the school. He was not a tall man, but very square-built, 
with carroty hair and very bushy red whiskers : to me he 
appeared a most formidable person, especially when he 
opened his large mouth and displayed his teeth, when I 
was reminded of the sign of the Red Lion, close to my 
mother's house. I certainly never had been before so much 
awed during my short existence, as I was with the appear- 
ance of my pedagogue, who sat before me somewhat in the 
fashion of a Roman tribune, holding in his hand a short 
round ruler, as if it were his truncheon of aathority. I 
had not been a minute in the school before I observed him 
to raise his arm ; away went the ruler, whizzing through the 
air, until it hit the skull of the lad for whom it was intended, 
at the other end of the schoolroom. The boy, who had been 
talking to his neighbor, rubbed his poll, and whined. 

"Why don't you bring back my ruler, jow spalpeen?" 
said Mr. O' Gallagher. " Be quick, Johnny Target, or it will 
end in a blow-up." 

The boy, who was not a little confused with the blow, 
sufficiently recovered his senses to obey the order, and, 
whimpering as he came up, returned the ruler to the hands 
of Mr.O'Gallagher. 

" That tongue of yours will get you into more trouble 
than it will business, I expect, Johnny Target: it's an 
unruly member, and requires a constant ruler over it." 
Jolniiiy Target rubbed his head, and said nothing. 

'•Master Kecne," said he after a short pause, "did you 
see wliat a tundering tump on the head that boy got just 
now'.'' and do you know what it was for':* " 

" No," replied I. 

"Where's your manners, you animal? *No!' Tf you 
plase, for the future, you must ]U)t forget to say ' No, sir,' 
or 'No, Mr. O'Gullagher.' D'ye mind me! Now say 'Yea' 
— whatV" 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 35 

« Yes, what." 

"Yes, what! you little ignoramus! say 'Yes, Mr. O'Gal- 
lagher,' and recollect, as the parish clerk says, ' this is the 
last time of asking.' " 

''Yes, Mr. O'Gallagher." 

" Ah 1 now, you see, there's nothing like coming to school ; 
you've learnt manners already : and now, to go back again, 
as to why Johnny Target had the rap on the head, which 
brought tears into his eyes. I'll just tell you, it was for 
talking. You see, the first thing for a boy to learn is, to 
hold his tongue : and that shall be your lesson for the day, 
you'll just sit down there; and if you say one word during 
the whole time you are in the school, it will end in a blow- 
up : that means on the present occasion, that I'll skin you 
alive as they do the eels, which, being rather keen work, will 
just suit your constitution." 

"Now, Mr. Keene," said he, "you'll be so good as to lend 
me your ears, that is, to listen while I talk to you a little 
bit. D'ye know how many roads there are to laming? 
Hold your tongue : I ask you because I know you don't 
know, and because I'm going to tell you. There are 
exactly three roads. The first is the eye, my jewel ; and if a 
lad has a sharp eye like yours, it's a great deal that will get 
into his head by that road ; you'll know a thing when you 
see it again, although you mayn t know your own father : 
that's a secret only known to your mother. The second 
road to larning, you spalpeen, is the ear ; and if you mind all 
people say, and hear all you can, you'll gain a great many 
truths, and just ten times as much more in the shape of 
lies ; you see the wheat and the chaff will come together ; and 
you must pick the latter out of the former at any season- 
able future opportunity. Now we come to the third road to 
larning, which is quite a different sort of road, because you 
see the two first give us little trouble, and we trot along 
almost whether we will or not ; t\\Q third and grand road is 
the head itself, which requires the eye and ear to help it, 
and two other assistants, which we call memory and appli- 
cation ; so you see we have the visual, then the aural, and 
then the mental roads, — three hard words which you don't 
miderstand, and which I sha'n't take the trouble to explain 
to such an animal as you are ; for I never throw away pearls 
to swine, as the saying is. Now then, Mr. Keene, we must 
oome to another part of our history. As there are three 



36 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

roads to laming, so there are three manes or implements by 
which boys are stimulated to larn : the first is the ruler, 
which you saw me shy at the thick skull of Johnny Target ; 
and you see'd what a rap it gave him. Well, then, the second 
is a ferule, a thing you never heard of, perhaps, but I'll 
show it you; here it is," continued Mr. O'Gallagher, produ- 
cing a sort of flat wooden ladle with a hole in the centre of 
it , " the ruler is for the head, as you have seen : the f er 
ule is for the hand. You have seen me use the ruler : now 
I'll show you what I do with the ferule. 

" You, Tommy Goskin, come here, sir." 

Tommy Goskin put down his book, and came up to his 
master with a good deal of doubt in his countenance. 

" Tommy Goskin, you didn't say your lesson well to-day." 

"Yes I did, Mr. O'Gallagher," replied Tommy: ''you 
said I did yourself." 

" Well, then, sir, you didn't say it well yesterday," contin- 
ued Mr. O'Gallagher. 

" Yes, I did, sir," replied the boy, whimpering. 

" And is it you who dares to contradict me V " cried Mr. 
O'Gallagher : " at all events, you won't sav it well to-mor- 
row; so hold out your right hand." 

Poor Tommy held it out, and roared lustily at the first 
blow, wringing his fingers with the smart. 

"Now your left hand, sir; fair play is a jewel: always 
carry the dish even." 

Tommy received a blow on his left hand, which was fol- 
lowed up with similar demonstrations of suffering. 

"There, sir, you may go now,'' said Mr. O'Gallagher; 
" and mind you don't do it again, or else there'll be a 
blow-up. And now, Master Keene, we come to the third 
and last, which is the birch for the back. Here it is : have 
you ever had a taste ? " 

"No, sir," replied I. 

" Well, then, you have that pleasure to come ; and come it 
will, I don't doubt, if you and I are a few days longer ac- 
quainted. Let me see " — 

Here iSlv. O'Gallagher looked round the school as if to 
find a culprit ; but the boys, aware of what was going on, 
kept their eyes so attentively to their books, that he could 
not discover one : at last he singled out a fat chubby lad. 

" Walter Puddock, come here, sir." 

Walter Puddock came accordingly: evidently he gave 
iiimself uj) for lost. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 37 

"Walter Puddock, I have just been telling Master Keene 
that you're the best Latin scholar in the whole school. Now 
sir, don't make me out to be a liar ; do me credit ,• or, by the 
blood of the O' Gallaghers, I'll flog ye till you're as thin as a 
herring. What's the Latin for a cocked hat, as the Roman 
gentlemen wore with their togeys ? " 

Walter Puddock hesitated a few seconds. 

" See, now ! the guilty tief ! he knows what's coming ; 
shame upon you, Walter Puddock, to disgrace your precep- 
tor so, and make him tell a lie to young Master Keene ! 
Where's Phil Mooney ? Come along, sir, and hoist Walter 
Puddock ; it's no larning that I can drive into you, Phil, but 
it's sartain sure that by your manes I drive a little into the 
other boys." 

Walter Puddock, as soon as he was on the back of Phil 
Mooney, received a dozen cuts with the rod, well laid on. 
He bore it without flinching, although the tears rolled down 
his cheeks. 

" There, Walter Puddock, I told you it would end in a 
blow-up. Go to your dictionary, you dirty blackguard, and 
do more credit to your education and superior instruction 
from a certain person who shall be nameless." 

IVIr. O'Gallagher laid the rod on one side, and then con' 
tinned, — 

" Now, Master Keene, I've just shown you the three roads 
to larning, and also the three implements to persuade little 
boys to larn : if you don't travel very fast by the three first, 
why, you will be followed up very smartly by the three last. 
A nod's as good as a wink to a blind horse, any day. And 
now, you've got the whole theory of the art of tuition. Mas- 
ter Keene : please the pigs, we'll commence with the prac^ 
tice to-morrow." ^^^^^^ Makkyat. 



TWO IRISH IDYLS. 

KIDING DOUBLE. 

Tkottin' to the fair, 
Me and ]\Ioll Malony, 

Seated, I declare. 
On a single pony. 



38 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

How am I to know that 

Molly's safe behind, 
Wid our heads in oh ! that 
Awkward way inclined ? 
By her gentle breathin' 

Whispered past my ear, 
And her white arms wreathin* 
Warm around me here. 

Trottin' to the fair, 

Me and Moll JNIalony, 
Seated, I declare, 
On a single pony. 

Yerriz ! Masther Jack, 

Lift your fore-legs higher, 
Or a rousin' crack, 

Surely you'll require. 
" Oh," says Moll, " I'm frightened 

That the pony '11 start ! " 
And her hands she tightened 

On my happy heart; 
Till widout reflectin', 

'Twasn't quite the vogue, 
Somehow I'm suspectin' 
That I snatched a pogue. 
Trottin' to the fair, 

Me and Moll ]\Ialony, 
Seated, I declare, 
On a single pony. 



RIDIXG TREBLE. 

Joultin' to the fair, 

Three upon the pony, 
That so lately were 

Me and JMoll JMalony. 
" How can three be on, boy ? 

Sure the wife and you, 
Though you should be one, boy, 

Can't be more nor tiro!" 
ArraJi, now then, may be, 

You've got eyes to see 



IRISH DTALECT RECITATIONS. 39 

That this purty baby- 
Adds us up to three. 

Joultin' to the fair, 

Three upon the pony, 
That so lately were 
Me and Moll Malony. 

Come, give over, Jack, 

Cap'rin' and curvettin* 
All that's on your back 
Foolishly forgotten' ; 
For I've tiik the notion 
One may canterin' go, 
Trottin' is a notion 
I'd extind to two ; 
But to travel steady, 

Matches best wid three, 
And we're that already, 
Mistress Moll and Me, 
Joultin' to the fair, 

Three upon the pony, 
That so lately were 
Me and Moll Malony. 

Alfred Perceval Graves. 



THE BROKEN PITCHER, 

As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping, 

With a pitcher of milk, from the fair of Coleraine, 

When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, 
And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain. 

" Oh what shall I do now ? — *twas looking at you now I 
Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again ! 

'Tw^as the pride of my dairy : O Barney M'Cleary ! 
You're sent as a plague to the girls of CJoleraine.'* 

I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, 
That such a misfortune should give her such pain. 

A kiss then I gave her; and ere I did leave her, 
iShe vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again. 



40 IRISH DIALECT RFX'ITATIONS., 

'Twas hay-makinsf season, — I can't tell the reason, — 
Misfortunes will never come single, 'tis plain; 

For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster 
The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine. 

Anonymous. 



PADDY'S EXCELSIOR. 

'TwAS growing dark so terrible fasht, 
Whin through a town up the mountain there pashed 
A broth of a boy, to his neck in the shnow: 
As he walked, liis shillelah he swung to and fro, 
Saying, "It's up to the top I'm bound for to go, 
Be jabbers ! " 

He looked mortial sad, and his eyes was as bright 
As a fire of turf on a cowld winther night; 
And divil a word that he said could ye tell 
As he opened his mouth and let out a yell, — 
"It's up till the top of the mountain I'll go, 
Oniess covered up wid this bodthersome shnow, 
Be jabbers ! " 

Through the windows he saw, as he thravelled along, 
The light of the candles and fires so warm : 
But a big chunk of ice hung over his head ; 
Wid a shnivel and groan, " By St. Patrick ! " he said, 
" It's up to the very tip-top I will rush, 
And then if it falls it's not meself it'll crush, 
Be jabbers ! " 

"Whisht a bit," said an owld man whose head was as white 
As the shnow that fell down on that miserable night: 
" Shure, ye'll fall in the wather, me bit of a lad ; 
For the night is so dark, and the walkin' is bad.'* 
Bedad ! he'd not lisht to a word that was said, 
But he'd go till the top if he went on his head, 
Be jabbers ! 

A bright, buxom young girl, such as likes to be kissed, 
Axed liim wadu't he stop, and how could he resist? 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 41 

So, shnapping his fingers and winking Ms eye, 
While shmiling upon her, he made this reply : — 
" Faith, I meant to kape on till I got to the top. 
But as yer shwate self has axed me, 1 may as well shtop. 
Be jabbers ! " 

He shtopped all night and he shtopped all day, 
And ye mustn't be axing whin he did go away ; 
Fur wouldn't he be a bastely gossoon 
To be lavin his darlint in the swate honeymoon ? 
Whin the owld man has peraties enough and to spare, 
Shure he moight as well shtay if he's comfortable there, 
Be jabbers ! 

Harper's Magazine. 



THE IRISH PHILOSOPHER. 

Ladies and Gintlemen, — 'I see so many foine-lookin* 
people sittin' before me, that, if you'll excuse me, I'll be 
afther takin' a seat meself. You don't know me, I'm think- 
ing, as some of yees 'ud be noddin' to me afore this. I'm a 
walkin' pedestrian, a travellin' philosopher. Terry O'Mul- 
ligan's me name. I'm from Dublin, where many philoso- 
phers before me was raised and bred. Oh, philosophy is 
a foine study ! I don't know any thing about it, but it's a 
foine study ! Before I kim over I attended an important 
meetin' of philosophers in Dublin ; and the discussin' and 
talkin' you'd hear there about the world 'ud warm the very 
heart of Socrates or Aristotle himself. AVell, there w^is a 
great many imminent and learned viin there at the meetin', 
and I was there too; and while we Avas in the very thickest 
of a heated argument, one comes to me, and saj'S he, " Do 
you know what we're talkin' about ? " — "I do," says I, " but 
1 don't understand yees." — "Could ye explain the sun's 
motion around the earth ? " says he. " I could," says I, 
*' but I'd not know could you understand or not." — *' Well," 
says he, " we'll see," says he. Sure'n I didn't know any thing 
how to get out of it then, so I piled in; "for," says I to 
meself, " never let on to any one that you don't know any 
thing, but make them believe that you do know all about 
it." So says I to him, takin' up me shillelah this way {hold- 
ing a very crooked stick perpendicular)^ " ^Ve'll take that 



42 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

for the straight line of the earth's equator " — how's that 
for gehography ? {to the audience.) Ah, that was straight till 
the other day I bent it in an argument. " Wery good," 
says he. " Well," says I, " now the sun rises in the east '* 
{placing the disengaged hand at the eastern end of the stick). 
Well, he couldn't deny that. " And when he gets up, he 

Darts his rosy beams — Through the mornin' gleams." 

Do you moind the poetry there? {to the audience, icith a 
smile.) " And he keeps on risin' and risin' till he reaches 
his meriden." — "What's that?" says he. "His dinner- 
toime," says I ; " sure'n that's my Latin for dinner-toime ; 
and when he gets his dinner 

He sinks to rest — Behind the glorious hills of the west." 

Oh, begorra, there's more poetry ! I fale it creepin' out all 
over me. " There," says I, well satisfied with myself; "will 
that do for ye ? " — " You haven't got done with him yet," 
says he. "Done with him!" says I, kinder mad like; 
" what more do you want me to do with him ? Didn't I 
bring him from the east to the west? What more do you 
want?" — "Oh, "says he, "you'll have to bring him back 
again to the east to rise next mornin'." By St. Patrick! 
and wasn't I near betrayin' me ignorance ! Sure'n I thought 
there was a large family of suns, and they rise one after the 
other. But I gathered meself quick, and says I to him, 
" Well," says I, " I'm surprised you axed me that simple 
question ; I thought any man ud know," says I, " when the 
sun sinks to rest in the west — when the sun " — says I. 
" You said that before," says he. " Well, I want to press it 
stronger upon you," says I. " When the sun sinks to rest 
in the east, — no, west, — why, he — why he waits till it 
grows dark, and then he goes back in the noight-Loime ! " 



MARY MALONEY'S PHILOSOPHY. 

" What are you singing for ? " said I to Mary Maloney. 

" Oh, I don't know, ma'am, without it's because my heart 
feels happy." 

" Happy, are you, Mary Maloney? Let me see : you don't 
own a foot of laud in the world V '* 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 43 

" Foot of land, is it ? " she cried, with a hearty Irish laugh. 
•' Oh, what a hand ye be after joking : why, I haven't a penny, 
let alone the land." 

" Your mother is dead ? " 

" God rest her soul, yes," replied Mary Maloney, with a 
touch of genuine pathos : " may the angels make her bed 
in heaven." 

" Your brother is still a hard case, I suppose ? " 

" Ah, you may well say that. It's nothing but drink, drink, 
drink, and beating his poor wife, that she is, the creature." 

" You have to pay your Httle sister's board? " 

"Sure, the bit creature; and she's a good little girl, is 
Hinny, willing to do whatever I axes her. I don't grudge 
the money what goes for that." 

" You haven't many fashionable dresses either, Mary Ma- 
loney V" 

"Fashionable, is it? Oh, yes, I put a piece of whalebone 
in my skirt, and me calico gown looks as big as the great 
ladies'. But then ye says true, I hasn't but two gowns to 
me back, two shoes to me feet, and one bonnet to me head, 
barring the old hood ye gave me." 

" You haven't any lover, Mary Maloney?" 

" Oh, be off wid ye — ketch Mary Maloney getting a lover 
these days, when the hard times is come. No, no, thank 
Heaven I haven't got that to trouble me yet, nor I don't 
want it." 

" \Vhat on earth, then, have you got to make you happy? 
A drunken brother, a poor helpless sister, no mother, no 
father, no lover : why, where do you get all your happiness 
from ? " 

" The Lord be praised, miss, it growed up in me. Give 
me a bit of sunshine, a clean flure, plenty of work, and a 
sup at the right time, and I'm made. That makes me laugh 
and sing ; and then, if deep trouble comes, why, God helpin' 
me, I'll try to keep my heart up. Sure, it would be a sad 
thing if Patrick AlcGrue should take it into his head to 
come an' ax me, but, the Lord willin', I'd try to bear up 
under it." Philadelphia Bulletin. 



44 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



BRIDGET MCRAE'S WEDDING ANNI- 
VERSARY. 

HOW SHE CELEBRATED THAT SAME. 

*Tis jist tin years ago, my Mike, 

Since you and me was wed ; 
Whin common folks make widdins like, 

Of tin or wood or lead. 

In troth, we are more sinsible, 

A cosey hour to pass, 
So now jist faix your gaping mouth 

For whiskey from this glass. 

Yez rieolect, my darlint Mike, 

Tin years ago to-night. 
Ye sware protiction till ye'd die, 

And dared the wourld to fight. 

With eyes so blue, and cheeks so red, 

My face a lord might suit; 
Ye vowed ye'd shoot the bla'gard through 

Who would that same dispute. 

Ah, will, in troth ye say it, b'y, 

I was a han'sum girl ; 
So here's a glass filled to yer j'y, 

And blissings on yer sowl. 

Och ! mind yer, Mike, the eye yer give 

To sootherin Pat one day ? 
*Twas thin I give my troth to have 

My Michael McRae. 

And, Mike, yer did protict me well — 

By work and batings too — ■ 
From losing heaven by spinding all 

My silly love on you. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 45 

Come, take anither glass, my b'y, 

Mysilf will drink to Pat, 
For sure he had a winning way, 

And — wurriir ! what is that ? 

Och ! villain, see, yeVe blacked my eye I 

I'm murthered, och ! Perlice ! 
Shtop bating me ! they'll take ye, b'y, 

For kaping not the pace. 

Och ! niver run, but hide yoursil' 
Here in this impty chist. 

— Ah ! come ye gintlemen for ill 
To Mike ? he's gone out, jist ! 

" Yez heard a woman call," did yez? 

Shure this 's a counthne free ; 
And can't a man bate what is his, 

Nor cilibrate the day? 

Do now begone, ye varmint race ; 

But hist ! I promise ye 
That Mike and me will kape the pace, 

If now ye'll let us be, 

— Come out and take anither thrate, 
These gints are gone, my Mike : 

Our widdiii may we cilibrate 
Nixt ten years as we like. 

Nina Gray* 



PADDY O'RAFTHER. 

Faddy, in want of a dinner one day, 
Credit all gone, and no money to pay, 
Stole from a priest a fat pullet, they say, 

And went to confession just afther. 
"Your riv'rince," says Paddy, '^I stole a fat hen." 
"What, what!" says the priest, "at your owld thricka 

again ? 
Faith, you'd rather be staalin' than sayin' amen, 

Paddy O'Raftherl" 



46 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" Sure you wouldn't be angry," says Pat, "if you knew 
That the best of intmtions I had in ray view; 
For I stole it to make it a present to you, 

And you can absolve me afther." 
" Do you think," says the priest, " I'd partake of your theft? 
Of your seven small senses you must be bereft : 
You're the biggest blackguard that I know, right or left, 

Paddy O'Rafther.'* 

" Then what shall I do with the pullet," says Pat, 

" If your riv'rince won't take it ? By this and by that, 

I don't know no more than a dog or a cat 

What your riv'rince would have me be afther." 
" Why, then," says his rev'rence, "you sin-blinded owl. 
Give back to the man that you stole from, his fowl ; 
For, if you do not, 'twill be worse for your sowl, 

Paddy O'Rafther." 

Says Paddy, "T asked him to take it — 'tis thrue 
As this minit I'm talkin', your riv'rince, to you; 
But he wouldn't resaive it, so what can I do ? " 

Says Paddy, nigh chokin' with laugh ther. 
*'By my throth," says the priest, "but the case ii absthruse: 
If he won't take his hen, why, the man is a goose. 
'Tis not the first time my advice was no use, 

Paddy O'Rafther. 

" But, for sake of your sowl, I would sthrongly advise 
To some one in want you would give y^our supplies, — • 
Some widow or orphan, with tears in their eyes; 

And ihen you may come to me afther." 
So Paddy went off to the brisk AVidow Hoy; 
And the pullet, between them, was eaten with joy. 
And, says she, " 'Pon my word, you're the cleverest boy, 

Paddy O'Rafther.- 

Then Paddy went back to the priest the next day, 
And told him the fowl he had given aw\ay 
To a poor lonely widow% in want and dismay, 

The loss of her spouse weeping afther. 
" Well, now," says the priest, "I'll absolve you, my lad, 
For repentantly making the best of the bad, 
In feeding the hungry and cheering the sad, 

Paddy O'Rafther." 
Samuel Lover- 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 



47 



PAT'S REASON. 

One. day, in a crowded Market-street car, 

A lady was standing. She had ridden quite far, 

And seemed much disposed to indulge in a frown, 

As nobody oifered to let her sit down. 

And many there sat, who, to judge by their dress. 

Might a gentleman's natural instincts possess ; 

But who, judged by their acts, make us firmly believe 

That appearances often will sadly deceive. 

There were some most intently devouring the news, 

And some, through the windows, enjoying the views ; 

And others indulged in a make-believe nap, 

AVhile the lady stood holding on by the strap. 

At last a young Irishman, fresh from the "sod," 

Arose with a smile and most comical nod, 

Which said quite as plain as in words could be stated, 

That the lady should sit in the place he'd vacated. 

*' Excuse me," said Pat, "that I caused you to wait 

So long before offerin' to give you a sate ; 

But in truth I was only just waitin' to see 

If there wasn't more gintlemiu here beside me." 



J 



O'BRANIGAN'S DRILL. 



The echoes of Sumter had thrilled through the land; 

And Michael O'Branigan, born to command, 

Obtained a commission. A word and a nod, 

And his roster was filled with the sons of "the sod.'* 

It is true that his knowledge of tactics was scant: 

AVhen he wished to "oblique," his command would be, 

" Slant ! " 
But he knew the importance of practical skill; 
And, marching his company out to a hill. 
Proceeded with this introductory drill : — 

" Attintion ! Right driss ! Be that token is meant 
That aich of ye keeps his nixt neighbor fernint. 
Shtand up like meself, an' look martial an' brave 
Wid a souldierly bearin' ! — ]\lulcahey, ye knave, 
Don't ye olfer to shtep from the ranks till ye've lave. 



48 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" Attintion 1 Fix bayonets ! Jisht for the drill^ 

We will play that the foe is a-houldin' the hill. 

Now, double-quick ! Charge ! An' I'll lade the way; 

An' this is yer watchword — fwhat is it? Hooray! 

Attintion ! Ila — halt, till I come till me breath ! 

Give O'Branigan time, an' he'll lade ye till death ! 

Halt, Ralferty, Lafferty ! Wait till I come ! 

Shtand shtill an' marrk time till the bate of the drum I 

It isn't the rulable usage of war 

To follow yer captain, unless he's before. 

" Attintion ! To prove to our foemen their folly, 
We'll load up our rifles an' give them a volley; 
An' to show how composed a bould souldier can shtand, 
I will shtep to the front while I give the command. 
Make ready! Take aim ! Patsy, point your gun higher! 
Don't shut the wrong eye w^hin ye're aimin' it. Fire 1 

" Oh ! Murther ! I'm kilt ! — Sargint Murphy, ye brute, 

Don't ye know, whin ye ounly blank cartridges shoot, 

If yer ramrod ye happen to lave in yer gun 

It's more deadly than forty-two bullets in one ? 

Jisht look at me hat, wdd its horrible rint, 

An' its iligant aigle to smithereens sint ! 

Ye're arrishted ! Moind that, now ! Y e'll pay for yer guilt 1 

I'd 'av' hung ye for murther, an I had been kilt. 

Faix, ye're sargint, to-day, of the guard, Murphy ! Whisht ! 

Go report till yersilf as put undher arrisht ! " 

So closed the first drill ; but he proved, when the field 
In the chaos of jarring artillery reeled. 
That, to quote a plain soldier's description, " So far 
As concerns the tough tussle and business of war, 
O'Branigau's flannel-mouthed veterans were there.'' 

W. W. Fmk. 



PAT AND THE PIG. 

We have read of a Pat so financially flat, 
That he liad neither money nor meat, 

And when huno:ry and thin, it was whispered by sin, 
That ho ou<z:ht to steal something to eat. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 49 

So he went to the sty of a widow near by. 

And he gazed on the tenant — poor soul! 
*' Arrah now," said lie, " what a trate thatll be," 

And tlie pig of the widow he stole. 

In a feast he rejoiced ; then he went to a judge, 

For in spite of the pork and the lard. 
There was something within, that was sharp as a pin. 

For his conscience was pricking him hard. 

And he said with a tear, " Will your Riverence hear 

What I have in sorrow to saj^ ? " 
Then the story he told, and the tale did unfold 

Of the pig he had taken away. 

And the judge to him said, "Ere you go to your bed 

You mast pay for the pig you have taken. 
For 'tis thus, by me sowl, you'll be saving your sowl. 

And will also be saving your bacon." 

"Oh, bejabers," said Pat, " I can niver do that — 

Not the ghost of a hap'orth have I — 
And I'm wretched indade if a penny it nade 

Any pace for me conscience to buy." 

Then in sorrow he cried, and the judge he replied, 

" Only think how you'll tremble with fear 
When the judge you shall meet at the great judgment seat> 

And the widow you plundered while here." 

" Will the widow be there? " whispered Fat with a stare, 

"And the pig? by my sowl, is it true? " 
" They will surely be there," said the judge, " I declare. 

And, oh Paddy ! what then will you do ? " 

" ]\rany thanks," answered Pat, " for you telling me that, 

JMaj" the blessings upon you be big! 
On that settlemint day, to the widow I'll say, 
^ Mrs. Flannegan, here is your pig! " 



50 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



PAT AND THE OYSTERS. 

One evening a red-headed Connaught swell, of no small 
aristocratic pretensions in his own eyes, sent his servant, 
whom he had just imported from the long-horned kingdom, 
in all the rough majesty of a creature fresh from the " wiids," 
to purchasse a hundred of oysters on the City Quay. Paddy 
staid so long away, that Squire Trigger got quite impatient 
and unhappy, lest his "body man " might have slipped into 
the Lrffey. However, to his infinite relief, Paddy soon made 
his appearance, puffing and blowing like a disabled bellows, 
but carrying his load seemingly in great triumph. " Well, 
Paf,*' cried the master, "what the devil kept you so long ? " 
— " Long! Ah, thin, maybe it *s what you'd have me t-o come 
home with half my arrant 1 ' ' says Pat. ' ' Half the oysters ? " 
says the master. " No ; but too much of the fish^^' says 
Pat. " What fish? " says he. " The oysters, to be sure," 
says Pat. *' What do you mean, blockhead?" says he. 
*' I mean," says Pat, "that there was no use in loading my- 
self w^ith more nor was useful." — " Will you explain your- 
self? " says he. " I will," says Pat, laying down his load. 
•*Well, then, you see, plaise your honor, as I was coming 
home along the quay, mighty peaceable, who should I meet 
but Shammus Maginus? * Good-morrow, Shamien,* sis I. 

* Good-morrow, kindly, Paudeen,' sis he. ' What is it you 
have in the sack? ' sis he. ♦ A hundred of oysters,' sis I. 
' Let us look at them,' sis he. ' I will, and welcome,' sis I. 

* Arrah! thunder and pratees! ' sis he, opening the sack, and 
examinin' them, ' who sowld you these? ' — ♦ One Tom Kina- 
han that keeps a small ship there below,' sis I. 'Musha, 
then, bad luck to that same Tom that soidd the likes to you ! ' 
sis he. ' Arrah! why, avick ? ' sis I. * To make a holsour ov 
yon, an' give them to you without clanmg thim,' sis he. 

* An' arn't they claned, Jim, aroon ? ' sis I. — * Oh! bad luck 
to the one of thim,' sis he. * Musha then,' says I, ' what the 
dhoul will I do at all, at all? fur the master will be mad.' — 
' Do! ' sis he, ' why, I'd rather do the thing for you mysel, 
nor you should lose your place, ' sis he. So wid that he begins 
to ciane them wid his knife, wr/M and well , an', afeered ov 
dirtying the flags, begor, ho swallowed the insides himself 
from beginnin' to ind, tal he had them as daeent as you see 
thim here," dashing down at his master's feet his bag of 
oyster-shells, to his master's no small amazement. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 51 



A PENITENT. 

Arrati, Nora, don't look like a thnnder-cloiid darlint: 
What harm if I did stale a kiss from yom'lips? 
No sinsible bee meets a smilino^ young rose, sure, 
But stops, the sly thafe, and a honey-drop sips. 
And, rose of the wurruld, spake aisy now, ain't I 
More sinsible far than a vagabond bee? 
And how could I see the swate kiss that was lying 
There on your red lips, as though waiting for me. 
And not take it, darlint? Och, Nora, give o'er! 
Faith, I'm awful sorry — I didn't take more. 

'Twas your fault, intirely. Why did you smile at me? 

So great a timptation no man could resist. 

For your laughing blue eyes, and your cheeks wid a dimple 

And your dilicate mouth said, " We're here to be kissed." 

And could I be dreaming they didn't spake truth, dear — 

Sure beautiful fatures like thim never lie ; 

If they do you should hide them, and not be desaving 

Such an innocent, trusting young fellow as I. 

Are you fi'owning still, darlint? Och, Nora, give o'er! 

Don'^^t I tell you I'm sorry— / didjiH take rwore? 

MARaARET ETTINGB. 



MIKE McGAFFATY'S DOG. 

Michael McGaffaty — faith, what a name, 

Was an Irishman born, and an Irishman bred. 
His brogue was as broad as his brawny frame. 

And his hands were as thick as his carroty head. 
Mike had a wife who was Erin's true child. 

Red-headed, big-fisted, and ugly was she ; 
Her features were fierce, and her nature not mild. 

And she was as stupid as stupid could be. 
And INIike had a dog, a bristling young terrier. 

Quick at a figlit, and not slow at a bone; 
In the family-circle none could be merrier. 

But he'd howl like a dervish Avhen left all alone. 



52 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Mike iH'ed in a hovel, untidy and small, 
(jne room for two persons is found not too big : 

Two persons, I said ? Now, faitli, that's not all, 
t'or rue cosiest corner was kept for the pig. « 

i^ow, with Mike, and his wife, and the pig and the dog, 
Vriiile none disagreed, all was quiet and right; 

But a quarrel arose, 'twixt the cur and the hog, 
And one night they set to and indulged in a fight. 

Then Biddy loud stormed, and louder Mike swore. 

The pig squealed and grunted, the dog yelled like mad; 

So to make everything quiet and peaceful once more, 
Mike turned out the dog and then quiet was had. 

But the dog was unused to the cold and the snow, 
Did not take his ejectment quite in good part; 

Not a step from the'door would the ugly cur go. 

But sat there and howled till the hut seemed to start. 

Again Biddy loud stormed, and louder Mike swore, 
While the pig sweetly slept, quite free from all care; 

And Mike must get up from his slumbers once more, 
To stop the wronged terrier's musical air. 

He rushed to the doorway in anger and wrath, 

Ne'er stopping for clothing, as quickly he bowled; 

There sat the scared terrier right in his path. 
Awakening the echoes as loudly he howled. 

The door was banged to. leaving Biddy alone. 
The howling was hushed and stillness restored; 

Bolt upright sat Biddy, now Michael was gone, 

"While " in slumbers of midnight " the pig loudly snored. 

So long was he gone that his spouse was alarmed, 
She moved from her bed and peeped out at the door; 

For i-ather than have her jNIcGaffaty harmed. 

She'd endure this dog's howling and that of ten more. 

The moon glistens brightly on hillocks of snow, 

And there, in a deep drift, stands Mike and the cur; 

O'er his half-naked form the chilling winds blow. 
Like a statue the dog stands, not daring to stir. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 53 

In wonder she gazes on human and brnte, 

Such a sight never met mortal eyes, I declare; 

From Mike's ears and his nose long icicles stood, 
While a small drift of snow rises white in his hair. 

In the heart of foir Biddy anger is brewing, 

And her shrilly pitched voice of panic doth smack; 

"Mike! Mike! you big blackguard, what now be ye doing, 
Sweating there in the could wid no coat to yer back? 

Mike turned at the voice of his blooming young daisy, 
While in shivering accents he answered in haste, 

■•' Whist, Biddy! my darling. noAV can't yer be aisy, 
Don't yer see what I'm doing? I'm frazing the baste." 

"'Tis frazing the baste is it? " answered fair Biddy, 

As into the hut she indignantly burst; 
"If yer stay there much longer you'll leave me a widdy. 

For in frazing the brute you will fraze 3^erself first." 

Makk Melville. 



JIMMY BUTLER AND THE OWL. 

AN IRISH STORY. 

'TwAS in the summer of '46 that I landed at Hamilton, fresh 
as a new pratie just dug from the " ould sod," and wid a liji;ht 
heart and a heavy bundle I sot off for the township of Buford, 
tiding a taste of a song, as merry a young fellow as iver took 
the road. Well, I trudged on and on, past many a plisant place, 
pleasin' meself wid the thought that some day I might have a 
place of me own, wid a world of chickens and ducks and pigs 
and childer about the door ; and along in the afternoon of the 
sicond day I got to Buford village. A cousin of me mother's, 
one Dennis O'Dowd, lived about siven miles from there, and I 
wanted to make his pk\ce that night ; so I inquired the way at 
the tavern, and was lucky to find a man who was goin' part of 
the way, and would show me the way to find Dennis. Sure 
he was very kind indade, an' when I got out of his wagon, he 
pointed me through the wood, and tould me to go straight 
Bouth a mile and a half, an' the first house would be Dennis's. 

" An* you've no time to lose, now," said he, '* for the sun is 
low ; an' mind you don't get lost in the woods." 

" Is it lost, now," said I, " that I'd be gittm', an' me uncle as 



54 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

great a navigator as iver steered a ship across the thraclt'less 

say ! Not a bit of it, though I'm obleeged to ye for your kind 
advice, and thank yiz for the ride." 

'An' wid that he drove off an' left me alone. I shouldered 
me bundle bravely, an', whistHn' a bit of tune for company like, 
I pushed into the bush. Well, 1 went a long way over bogs, 
an' turnin' round among the bush an' trees till I began to think 
I must be weil-nigh to Dennis's. But, bad 'cess to it ! all of a 
Budden I came out of the woods at the very identical spot where 
I started in, which I knew by an ould crotched tree that seemed 
to be standin' on its head an' kickin' up its heels to make divar- 
sion of me. By this time it was growin' dark, and as there wag- 
no time to lose, 1 started in a second time, determined to keep 
straight south this time, and no mistake. I got on bravely foi 
a while ; but och hone ! och hone ! it got so dark 1 couldn't see 
the trees, an' I bumped me nose an' barked me shins, while the 
miskaties bit me hands an' face to a bhster; an' after tumblin' 
an' stumblin' around till I was fairly bamfoozled, 1 sat down on 
a log, all of a trimble, to think that 1 was lost intirely, an' that 
maybe a lion, or some other wild crayther, would devour me 
before mornin'. 

Just th6n I heard somebody a long way off say, " Whip poor 
Will ! " " Bedad ! " sez I, " I'm glad it isn't Jamie that's got 
to take it, though it seems it's more in sorrow than in anger 
they are doin' it, or why should they say * poor Will ' ? an' sm-e 
^-hey can't be Injin, haythin, or naygur, for it's plain English 
they're afther spakin'. Maybe they might help me out o' this ;" 
80 I shouted, at the top of my voice, " A lost man ! " Thin I 
listened. Prisently an answer came : 

" Who ! whoo ! Whooo ! " 

"Jamie Butler, the waiver!" sez I, as loud as I could roar; 
an* snatchin' up my bundle an' stick, 1 started in the direction 
cf the voice. Whin 1 thought I had got near the place, I 
stopped and shouted again : " A lost man ! " 

" Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " said a voice right over my head. 

" Sure," thinks I, " it's a mighty quare place for a man to be 
at this time of night; maybe it's some settler scrapin' sugar off 
a sugar-bush, for the children's breakfast in the mornin'. But 
Where's Will, and the rest of them ? " All this wint through 
me head like a flash ; and thin I answered his inquiry : 

" Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez 1 ; " an' if it wouldn't incon* 
vanience yer honor, would yiz be kind enough to step down an 
show me the way to the house of Ueuuis U'JJowd?" 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 55 

" Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " sez he. 

" Dennis O'Dowd ! " sez I, civil enough ; " and a dacent maa 
he is, and first cousin to me own mother." 

" Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " sez he again. 

*' Me mother ! " sa5^s I ; " and as fine a woman as iver peeled 
a biled pratie wid her thumb-nail; and her maiden name waa 
Molly McFiggin." 

" Who ! whoo I whooo ! " 

" Paddy McFiggin ! bad luck to yer deaf ould head, — Paddy 
McFiggin, I say — do ye hear that? An' he was the tallest 
man in all the county Tipperary, excipt Jim Doyle, the black- 
smith." 

"Who! whoo! whooo!" 

"Jim Doyle, the blacksmith!" sez I, "ye good-for-nothin' 
blaggurd naygur, and if yiz don't come down and show me the 
way this min't, I'll climb up there and break ivry bone in your 
skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as me name is Jimmy Butler !" 

" Who ! whoo ! whooo ! " says he, as impident as iver. 

I said niver a word, but layin' down me bundle, and takin' 
me stick in me teeth, 1 began to climb the tree. Whin I got 
among the branches, I looked quietly around till I saw a pair 
of big eyes just forninst me. 

" Whist," sez I, " an' I'll let him have a taste of an Irish 
stick ; " an' wid that I let drive an' lost me balance an' came 
tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid the fall. 
Whin I came to me sinsis I had a very sore head, wid a lump 
on it like a goose-egg, and half of me Sunday coat-tail torn 
ofi" intirely. 1 spoke to the chap in the tree, but could git niver 
an answer at all, at all. 

" Sure," thinks I, " he must have gone home to row! up 
his head, for, by the powers, I didn't throw me stick for 
nothin'." 

Well, by this time the moon was up, an' I could see a little, 
an' I detarmined to make one more effort to reach Dennis's. 

I wint on cautiously for a while, an* thin I heard a bell. 
*' Sure," sez I, " I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear the 
church-bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came to an ould 
cow wid a bell on. She started to run ; but I was too quick for 
her, an' got her by the tail an' hung on, thinkin' that maybe she 
would take me out of the woods. On we wint, like an ould- 
country steeple-chase, till, sure enough, we came out t'* 
a clearin' an' a house in sight wid a light in it. So, leavin* 
the ould cow puffin' an' blowia' in a shed, I wint to the 



56 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

house, an*, as luck would have it, whose should it be but 

Dennis's? 

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, an' introduced me to bia 
two daughters — as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped an eye 
on. But Avhin 1 tould him me adventure in the woods, an' about 
the fellow who made fun of me, they all laughed an' roared, an* 
Dennis said it was an owl. 

" An ould what ? " sez I. 

" Why, an owl, a bird," sez he. 

"Do ye tell me now.^" sez L " Sure, it's a quare country 
and a quare bird." 

An' thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed meself 
that hearty like, an' dropped right into a chair between the two 
purty girls ; an' the ould chap winked at me, an' roared again. 

Dennis is me father-in-law now, an' he often yet delights to 
tell our childer about their daddy's adventure wid the owl. 

Anonymous 



TIPPERARY. 



These lines are said to have been addressed to a Dr. Fitzgerald, on reading 
the followiug couplet in his apostrophe to his native village : — 

" And thou ! dear village, loveliest of the clime, 
Fain would I name thee, but I'm scant in rhyme.'* 

A BARD there was in sad quandary, 
To find a rhyme for Tipperary. 
Long labored he through January, 
Yet found no rhyme for Tipperary ; 
Toiled every day in February, 
But toiled in vain for Tipperary ; 
Searched Hebrew text and commentary, 
But searched in vain for Tipperary ; 
Bored all his friends at Inverary, 
To find a rhyme for Tipperary; 
Implored the aid of " Paddy Carey," 
Yet still no rhyme for Tipperary; 
He next besought his mother Mary, 
To tell him rhyme for Tipperai'y; 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 57 

But she, good woman, was no fairy, 

Nor witch — though born in Tipperaryj 

Knew every thing about her dairy. 

But not the rhyme for Tipperary ; 

The stubborn Muse he could not vary, 

For still the lines would run contrary, 

Whene'er he thought on Tipperary; 

And though of time he was not chary, 

'Twas thrown a\Yay on Tipperary ; 

Till, of his wild-goose chase most weary. 

He vowed to leave out Tipperary ; 

But, no : the theme he might not vary, 

His longing was not temporary, 

To find meet rhyme for Tipperary; 

He sought among the gay and airy, 

He pestered all the military, 

Committed many a strange vagary. 

Bewitched, it seemed, by Tipperary. 

He wrote post-haste to Darby Leary, 

Besought with tears his Auntie Sairie, 

But sought he far, or sought he near, he 

Ne'er found a rhyme for Tipperary. 

He travelled sad through Cork and Kerry, 

He drove " like mad " through sweet Dunbary, 

Kicked up a precious tantar-ara, 

But found no rhyme for Tipperary; 

Lived fourteen weeks at Straw-ar-ara, 

Was well-nigh lost in Glenegary, 

Then started " slick " for Demerara, 

In search of rhyme for Tipperary. 

Through " Yankee-land," sick, solitary, 

He roamed by forest, lake, and prairie — 

He went per ierrem et per mare — 

But found no rhyme for Tipperary. 

Through orient climes on dromedary, 

On camel's back through great Sahara— 

His travels were extraordinary — 

In search of rhyme for Tipperary. 

Fierce as a gorgon or chimasra, 

Fierce as Alecto or Megsera, 

Fiercer than e'er a love-sick bear, he 

Raged through "the londe" of Tipperary; 

His cheeks grew thin, and wondrous hairy, 



58 IRISH BfALECT RECITATIONS. 

His visage long, his aspect " eerie," 
His tout ensemble, faith ! 'twould scare ye, 
Amidst the wilds of Tipperary. 
Becoming hypochon-dri-ary, 
He sent for his apothecary, 
Who ordered " bahii " and saponary, — 
Herbs rare to find in Tipperary. 
In his potations ever wary, 
His choicest drink was " home gooseberry." 
On swipes, skim-milk, and smallest beer, he 
i Scanted rhyme for his Tipperary. 

Had he imbibed good old ^ladeira, 
Drank " pottle-deep " of golden sherry, 
Of Falstaff sack, or ripe canary, 
iNo rhyme had lacked for Tipperary. 
Or had his tastes been literary. 
He might have found extemporary, 
"Without the aid of dictionary. 
Some fitting rhyme for Tipperary. 
Or had he been an antiquary. 
Burnt midnight oil in his library. 
Or been of temper less " camsteary," 
Rhymes had not lacked for Tipperary. 
He paced about his aviary. 
Blew up sky-high his secretary, 
And then in truth and anger sware he, 
There was no rhyme for Tipperary. 



1 



PAT'S DREAM OF HEAVEN. 

I DHREAMED I wint to hivin one night. 

And knocked at the big white gate, 
And the good St. Peter he opened it, 

But he towld me I'd have to wait 
While he looked for me name in the howly book; 

And whin he had found it there, 
He bade me come in, though lie towld me plain 

That miu comiu* that way was rai'e. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 59 

I axed him how was business now; 

And he twirled the golden kay, 
And answered he had very little to do, 

So few ever came that way. 
So I shtopped a bit to chat wid him, 

And I axed could I took around : 
He said, " Oh, yes ! as ye've once got in, 

Yer free to the whole uv the ground. 

" Free to walk by the river uv life, 

To rist in the mansions of light, 
To shtand in the timple not made by hands, 

Wid the sunbhurst uv glory bright." 
I seen the apostles a-inindin' their nets, 

And I axed what need uv um now ; 
And the howliest light shone round about 

Each howly apostle's brow 
As they answered, " Our nets must be strong indeed, 

To draw min's souls away 
From the bogs of doubt they are clingia' in. 

To the light uv perfect day." 

I saw the martyrs of olden time, 

The saints and angels fair, 
And millions and millions uv young spalpeens 

' All playing together there ; 
And jNIary the Mother wid love in her eyes 

Looked down on each little child ; 
And the blessed Teacher was teachin' them, 

So gentle and undefiled. 

But away in a corner I heard a noise : 

I thought 'twas a bit uv a row ; 
So I loosed my shillelah. " Begorra ! " says I, 

"If it's fightin' I'll jest show um how." 
But whin I dhrew nearer I heard them shpakc. 

And they was a-tellin' aloud 
The story of Joseph the carpenter, 

To a listeniu' bit of a crowd. 

Now, Joseph, it seems, was a good-natured sowl, 

And what he was towld he believed ; 
And many's the frind, on his recommind, 

By Peter had been received. 



60 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

But Peter at last found this wouldn't do : 
So he towld to the ciu'penter Joe 

That no more f rinds in his recomniiud 
Inside the gate should go. 

Then what does Joseph the carpenter do, 

But, bein' so deft at his trade, 
He wint to work wid hammer and plane, 

And a long, shtrong ladder he made; 
And thrusting it out of window high, 

'Fore theyknowed what he was about, 
He was snakin' his frinds by the dozens in, 

And that was what made the rout. 



And Paul the preacher, the earnest heart, 

Had found out what was goin' on ; 
And he was tell in' the story strange 

To Matthew, Mark, and John. 
And Peter the doorkaper left his place. 

And drew near and listened too ; 
And he waxed very wroth. " Now, Joseph," says he, 

" I've had too much trouble wid you. 



" Let me hear no more of these wicked pranks, 

Or we'll have a council of war. 
And see if there's no makin' you 

Abide by the common law. 
We will have you cast out as an inemy, — 

The dhragon was long ago, — 
And then you must wander a thousand years 

In darkness and death, you know." 

Now, Joseph the carpenter bowed, and said, 

" Is it turnin' me out, ye mane ? 
Shure I'll go at once, if you think it best, 

And niver a word I'll complain ; 
But a man has a right to his family." 

Here he winked his eye and shmiled. 
" And 'twould break up your whole institution, shure, 

If I took my wife and her Child." 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 61 

And all the apostles took up their nets, 

And silently walked away ; 
And Peter moved off scratchin' his ear 

Wid the end uv the golden kay ; 
And Joseph the carpenter whistled a tune. 

I thought 'twas a bit of a joke, 
But 1 feared to laugh, so I made up my mind 

'Twas all a dhrame — and I woke. 



BIDDY'S TROUBLES. 

*' It's thru for me, Katy, that I never seed the like of this 
people afore. It's a sorry time I've been having since com- 
ing to this house, twelve months agone this week Thursday. 
Yer knew, honey, that my fourth coosin, Ann ]\Iacarthy, 
reconnnended me to jNIrs. Whaler, and told the lady that I 
knew about ginteel housework and the likes; while at the 
same time I had niver seed inter an American lady's 
kitchen. So she engaged me, and my heart was jist ready 
to biu'st wid grief for the story that Ann had told, for Mrs. 
Whaler was a swate-spoken lady, and never looked cross- 
like in her life; that I knew by her smooth kind face. Well, 
jist the first thing she told me to do, after I dressed the chil- 
dren, was to dress the ducks for dinner. I stood looking at 
the lady for a couple of minutes, before I could make out 
any meaning at all to her words. Thin I went searching 
after clothes for the ducks; and such a time as I had to be 
sure. High and low I went, till at last my mistress axed 
me for what I was looking; and I told her the clothes for the 
ducks, to be sure. Och, how she scramed and laughed, till 
my face was as rid as the sun wid shame, and she showed me 
in her kind swate way w^hat her meaning was. Thin she told 
me how to air the beds; and it was a day for me, indade. 
when I could go up chamber alone and clare up the rooms. 
One day ]\Irs. Whaler said to me, — 

" 'Biddy, an' ye may give the baby an airin', if yees 
will.' 

" What should I do — and it's thru w^hat I am saying this 
blessed minute — but go up stairs wid the child, and shake 



62 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 

it, and then howld it out of the winder. Such a screaming 
and kicking- as the baby gave — but I hild on the harder. 
Everybody thin in the strate looked up at me; at last mis- 
thress came up to see what for was so much noise. 

" ' I am thrying to air the baby,' I said, ' but it kicks and 
scrames dridfuUy.' 

" There was company down below; and whin Mrs. Wha- 
ler told them what I had been after doing, I thought they 
would scare the folks in the strate wid scraming. 

" And then I was told I must do up Mr. Whaler's sharts 
one day when my mistress was out shopping. She told 
me repeatedly to do them up nice, for master was going 
RM^ay; so I takes the sharts and did them all up in some 
paper that I was after bringing from the ould counthry wid 
me, and tied some nice pink ribbon around the bundle. 

"'Where are the sharts, Biddy?' axed Mrs. Whaler, 
when she comed home. 

" ' I have been doing them up in a quair nice way,' I said, 
bringing her the bundle. 

" ' Will you iver be done wid your graneness? ' she axed 
me with a loud scrame. 

" I can't for the life of me be tellin' what their talkin* 
manes. At home we call the likes of this fine work starch- 
ing; and a deal of it I have done, too. Och! and may the 
blessed vargin pity me, for I uever'll be cured of my grane- 
ness!'* 



''MAKE IT FOUR, YER HONOR." 

Was ye iver in coort av a mornin', 

When the shiverin' sinners come, 
Like bastes from their iron cages, 

To be tould their guilt and doom? 
Some av thim bould and brazen, 

Some av thim broke wid care, 
Some av thim wild and wapin'. 

Or sullen wid black despair. 

Oh ! it's a sight inthirely 

To take the heart away, — 
The pitiful little children, 

The ould ones dirthy and gray; 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 63 

Crouchin* along the benches, 

Tuckin' their rags about, 
To hide the sorrow that's in thim, 

And kape the coulduess out. 

There is the Judge above thim, 

The coort's own officers ; 
Police, wid their long shillelahs, 

Nate in their coats and stars. 
Witnesses, too, a plinty; 

Shysters to worry and bite, 
And, hangin' about the railin', 

The divil's own crew for fight. 

Nine av the clock is sthrikin' 

When the dark begins to read. 
An' prisintly his Honor 

Says to the coort, " Proceed." 
Thin up they call ould Mary, 

And thrimblin' there she stands : 
The comb's forgotten that's felt her hair, 

An' the soap that's seen her hands. 

Larry, ray boy, where are ye, 

That came fram ould Gal way. 
An' brought in yer arms a darlin', 

The swatest that crossed the say ? 
Could you see her now, all faded. 

In her rags and sin and shame, 
Yer heart it would break wid sorrow 

That iver she bore yer name. 

Then up spakes the Judge ; an' says he, 

" Mary, I've seen ye here. 
How many times, can ye tell me, 

Since it M'as the last new year ? 
Ye're scarcely quit av the prisin, 

And hei-e ye are the-day, 
*For sthaling,' says the witness : 

Now, what have ye to say ? " 

Shakin' her gray hairs backward 

Out of her eyes and face : 
*' It's thrue that ye say, yer Honor, 

And it's thrue it's my disgrace. 



64 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 

But it wasn't the coat I cared for t 
It's shtarvin' I was to eat ; 

And I want a Christian shilter 
Out av a Christless street. 

** Sind me back to prisin ; 

For the winter it is cold, 
And there isn't a lieart that's warmin' 

Por the likes of me that's old. 
There isn't a heart that's warmin', 

Xor a hand that takes me in : 
If I shtale to keep from shtarvin', 

May God forgive the sin ! " 

Thin kindly spakes his Honor : 

" Well, Mary, will it do 
If I sind you to the prisin 

For jist a month or two ? " 
" The jail's a friend," says Mary; 

" 1 fear the winther more ; 
If ye pity me, yer Honor, 

Ye'll plaze to make it four.'* 

Anon, 



THE POST-BOY. 



" Come over the bridge, IQtty Clooney, an* up by the Black 

Rock way. 
I'm going to meet the post-boy, — he's makin' his rounds to- 
day, — 
An' I'll hold ye anything, Kitty, he'll bring me a bit of a note, 
For my heart is singin' an' dancin' an' pumpin' up in my 
throat. 

" Make haste, dear, an' throw on yer shoulders yer little red- 
hooded cloak. 

For the sky hangin' over the hill-tops is heavy with clouds 
like smoke. 

'Twill be only a shower I'm thinkin', for, back of the mist, 
the sun 

'Tis waitin' to laugh at the mountains for thinkin' the day 
was done. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 65 

" Sure, 'tis well we're two hearty colleens, not hurt by a 

sprinklin' o' rain. 
If 'twas ladies was in it, Kitty, how quick they'd turn back 

again, 
An' miss all the soft sweet mornin', the stretch o' the climbin' 

road, 
An' the blackbird that sings in the hedges, so thick with the 

hawthorn sowed. 

"The water was coolin' and fresh, then, an' curled 'round 

our feet when they stepped 
From one big black stone to the next ^ith a gurglin' splash; 

an' we've kept 
Our mantles tidy and dry, or they'd tell on us over to 

home. ^ 

So we'll sit here an' rest for a minute : 'tis this way the post 

will come. 

"Ah, Kitty, what do you think now? Will he bring me a 
word this day. 

From my Patrick, ma houcJial deelish, my lad that went over 
the say 

To the terrible wars an' the fightin' in the great big sorrow- 
ful land, 

Where agin' one another in battle own brothers are liftin* 
the hand V 

*' Sure he wrote me the whole dark story, an' how from the 

very first 
He went to the fight full hearted to stand by the bitter 

worst. 
I'll read ye the letter, Kitty, for I keep it still in my 

breast : 
I'd no more lave it out than the linnet would push her young 

from the nest. 

**■ ' Not 'list ! is it, Mary? he's sayin'— * Ah ! 'twasn't yourself 

that spoke, 
For your sweet lips would scorn the message, tho' the tender 

heart of you broke. 
You'd rather grow white with the grievin' than blush at the 

coward's name 
That 'ud follow me like a shadow If I sold my soul into 

shame. 



QQ IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" ' To the shame on the son of Erin who'd turn in her grief 

and need, 
From the land that has welcome kind, without favor of 

clime or creed, 
For the millions that come in crowds from the grudgin* old 

mother soil 
To the country free-hearted an' flowin' with plenty for 

honest toil.' 

" 'Tis true, Kitty dear, 'twas fightin* for what there's no room 

for here, — 
The struggle for right and for freedom, that's costin' the big 

world dear. 
Sure the sweet Holy Mother laned smilin', and heard ev'ry 

prayer that I said. 
An' never let baynet or bullet touch one hair of his darlin' 

head. 

"Och, Kitty! I Lear the post-boy! my heart with terror 
faints 1 

If he hasn't a letter, Kitty ! Run up while I pray to the 
saints ; 

An' I'll shut my eyes till ye bring me the hope or the heart- 
break down, — 

The word that'll call me to meet him, or the silence that 
laves me alone." 

" Look up then, Mary Alanna ! " called Kitty, as down out of 

breath 
She ran, where the waiting colleen sat quiet and pale as 

death. 
" It is not a letter, agra ! but " — " Your Patrick's own self, 

in troth. 
That the post has brought ye to-day, Mary, — myself an' the 

letter both ! 

"Aye, cry with the joy, acusJda, 'twill ease your flutterin' 

heart, 
^ATiile I tell you over and over, we never again need part : 
While I press you tight to my breast, darliu', tlie breast that 

kept strong an' true; 
For the saints in the thick of the fight, dear, were shieldiu' 

me safe for you 1 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 67 

" Come up the road now : the post-boy is waitin' the news 

to hear. 
'Tis seldom he brings a letter that spakes out its mind so clear, 
Or one that the givin' up of will lighten so much the load 
Of that broth of a post-boy that travels along the Killarney 

road." Mrs. C. J. Despard. 



THAT FIRE AT THE NOLANS'. 

Tt would have been evident to even the most careless and 
unobservant passer-by, that something had happened at the 
Tvolans'. Not that there was any thing the matter with the 
house, for it bore no trace of disaster ; but thei-e were many 
signs which in Shantytown betoken either a fight, a funeral, 
or a fire. The Nolan mansion was the only building with- 
in six blocks that was built on the level of the street; it 
was, moreover, constructed of brick, and three stories liigh ; 
decorated paper shades adorned its windows, and its door 
was emblazoned with a silver plate on which were the 
words, *' Terence O'C Nolan." On the particular morning 
in question, all the occupants of the surrounding white- 
washed, patched, and propped-up shanties were gathered on 
the sidewalk m front of it. From the centre window in the 
second stor}', Thoinas-i-I>ecket Nolan, aged four years, with 
his. nose flattened against the glass, peered down at the 
excited groups below. Now and then he would breathe ou 
the pane, and then draw strange characters over its misty 
surface with his small finger. He was the unconscious 
object of many remarks. 

Old i\Irs. Murphy, the centre of an interested knot of neigh- 
bors, was listened to with great respect because she had just 
come from within the house. ^lichael Coogan, presuming 
on the fact that he had married a sister of Dennis O'Connor, 
who was ]\Irs. Nolan's great-uncle, ascended the steps, and 
rang the bell. 

" Stip in, Mr. Coogan," said Mrs. Nolan. " Good marnin' 
to yer. I suppose it's askin' afther Tirry ye are, an' the 
foire. Jist walk this way an' contimplate the destrooction." 

"The dtbree ain't so much as removed from the flure," 
she explained as she held open the parlor door and allowed 
Mr. Coogan to survey the wreck inside the room. Every- 
thing iu the apartment was broken, and soaked with water; 



68 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

but strangely enough there were no stains of smoke or any 
other trace of fire to be seen. Pictures and ornaments were 
all completely demolished, and broken glass covered every- 
thing. 

" Howly saints ! " ejaculated Mr. Coogan, " phat an ixpin- 
sive catashtrophe, Mrs. Nolan ! It's a tirrible dimonstration 
yez must have had." 

" Ah, that it wuz," she replied, sinking into a damp and 
mutilated rocking-chair. " Ter think of that bee-utiful 
Axminister carpet, an' those impoorted Daggystan roogs, an' 
our new Frinch mantel clock that had the gooldfish globe 
over it — all soppin' wet, an' shmashed to shmithereens. It 
'ud be a treniingious calamity for anybody." 

" Tremingious ! " echoed Mr. Coogan in an awe-struck 
tone, " that it wud. An' how did the occui-ince evintuate, 
Mrs. Nolan?" 

" It wuz all along av the new domistic an' those divilish 
greeners," began Mrs. Xolan in a somewhat agitated man- 
ner, shaking her head sadly. " Lasht wake, Katy, our ould 
gurrel that had bin wid us fer noine years, married a long- 
shoreman, an' so I ingaged a domistic be the name af Mary 
Ann Reilly. She had lost two fingers aff av her lift hand, 
an' wuz rid-hidded an' pock-marked, but she wuz will ricom- 
mended, an' so I tuk her at oncet. Tirry didn't loike the 
looks af her, at all, at all ' Bridget,' sez he, ' her eyes are 
not shtraight,' sez he. ' I don't like google-eyed paple in 
the house,' sez he. ' Look out, or slie'U be afther lookin' at 
ye or at Tummy, an' bewitcliin' ye wid her ayvil eye,' sez he. 
But wud ye belave me, Mr. Coogan, she only looked crucked 
whin she wuz narvous or excoited, and glneralhj her eyes 
wuz as shtraight as yer own in yer hid. She hadn't bin in 
the house over two days, d'ye moind, whin I dropped the 
fiat-oiron on me fut, scalded me hand, an' broke two chiney 
dishes in wan mornin', and that same day Tommy got inter 
the kitchen an' eat up three pounds of raishons, an' wuz 
shriekin' wid epleptic conwulsions all noight ; so I began 
ter put some faith in her bewitchment mesilf." 

"Roight for ye," said Mr. Coogan, nodding approvingly 
at Mrs. Nolan. " That wuz bad loock enough, so it was." 

*' Will, that wuz only the beginnin'," continued Mrs. Nolan. 
" The nixt thing wuz yisterday mornin' whin Tirry cum 
home wid a bashkit full o' little, round, green bottles. 
*Phat'a thim?' sez I. 'Is it Christmas-tree toys, or is it 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 69 

patent midicine ? ' — ' Nayther,' sez Tiny ; ' it's a family foire 
departmint,' sez he. ' Since we have no tilegraft in the 
house,' sez he, ' an' insoorance is so expinsible, I've bin afther 
buyin' some han' greenades ter put out foires wid.' — 'Is it 
limonade is in 'em, did yer say?' sez I. 'No,' sez he. 
' They're greenades, Bridget. The bottles is green, an' they 
aid ye ter put out a foire,' sez he. So Tirry hung up wan 
dozen bottles in the parlor near the dure (where that woire 
rack is, Mr. Coogan), an' instroocted Mary Ann how to ix- 
tinguish foires wid thim, by trowin' thim at the flames." 

" Is it base-ball that it is? " inquired Mr. Coogan. 

" No, loike stonin' goats, more," said Mrs. Nolan, and then 
she resumed her narrative. " Lasht avenin', the lamp wuz 
lit on the table. Tummy wuz playin' by the winder, an' me 
husband wuz takin' his convanience in his ari'um-chair, wid 
his back to the dure. 1 wuz sittin' near the table a-readin' 
the mornin' Hurruld, an' Tummy all av a suddent lit the 
winder-shade run up near the top. ' M udder,' sez he, ' the 
b'yes have made a big bonfoire in the lot opposite,' sez lie. 
An' from where I sat I could see the reflixion av a blazin' 
tar-barrel in the loockin'-glass over the mantelpace. Jist 
thin, the dure opined behind me, and iNIary Ann come in. 
She saw the reflixion too, an' yelled, ^ Foire!' loike bloody 
murder. I turns round to look at her, and she wuz trimblin' 
wid oscoitemint, an' as google-eyed as a crab. * Foire ! ' yells 
she, an' wid that she grabs a bottle of greenade, an' lets 
it fly. Smash ! goes the bottle, an' doon come our twinty- 
dollar ingraving av St. Patrick drivin' the shnakes out of 
Ireland. Crash ! goes another, and over comes the clock. 
' Hullup ! ' shouts Tirry, an' got out of his chair, but whang, 
wan of the greeners hits him in the hid an' busts all over 
him. Wid that he fell spacheless on the flure, an' I thought 
he wuz kilt entoirely. Tunnny crawled under the sofa, an' 
I scrouched doon behind the table. All this toime that 
cross-eyed Mary Ann wuz screeching * Foire .' foire !' .?tn' 
plooggin' them bottles av greenade round the room. Bang! 
wan hits the vase full av wax fruit, that Tirry got at the 
fair. Slain ! another puts out the loight, an' clears the lamp 
off the table, an' she foired the rist af the dozen bottles, 
roight an' lift, ichang ! smash ! round in the dark. The 
glass wuz crashin', and the greenade stoof was splatteriu' an' 
splashin' an' tricklin' all over the wall an' furnitoor." 

"Mother o' Moses!" interrupted Mr. Coogan. "It's 



70 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

bnshels of glass there is iverywhere. How did it ind, Mrs. 

Kolan ? " 

" The b'j^es over in the lot heard the scraychin' an* crash- 
in', and they smothered their foire, an' come and bust in the 
front dure, ter see the foight they thought it wuz. Tirry is 
in bid, wid a poultice on his liid ; an' Mary Ann is a-sittin' 
in the kitchen, paceable as a lamb, lookin' at the ind av her 
nose fer occypation. She can pack up an' lave this viry day. 
As fer that young sphalpeen av a Tummy, he ought ter 
be licked fer littin' up the winder-shade. Take my advoice, 
Mr. Coogan, an' trust to the foiremin or an ould-fashioned 
pail av water, an' don't be afther buyin' flasks av cologny- 
perfume to put out foires wid." 

" Ye're roight, Mrs. Nolan," replied Mr. Coogan. " That's 
sinsible informatiou ; an' I'll uiver be google-eyed, nayther.'* 

Life. 



NINETY-EIGHT. 

Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight ? 

Who blushes at the name? 
When cowards mock the patriot's fate, 

AVho hangs his head for shame ? 
He's all a knave, or half a slave, 

Who slights his country thus ; 
But a true man, like you, man, 

Will fill your glass with us ! 

We drink the memory of the brave, 

The faithful and the few : 
Some lie far off beyond the wave, 

Some sleep in Ireland too; 
All, all are gone ; but still lives on 

The fame of those who died ; 
All true men, like you, men, 

Remember them with pride 1 

Some on the shores of distant lands 
Their weary hearts have laid. 

And by the stranger's heedless hands 
Their lonely graves were made j 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 71 

But though their clay be far away 

Beyond the Atlantic foam, 
In true men, like you, men, 

Their spirit's still at home. 

The dust of some is Irish earth ; 

Among their own they rest, 
And the same land that gave them birth 

Has caught them to her breast. 
And we will pray that from their clay 

Full many a race may start 
Of true men, like you, men, 

To act as brave a part 1 

They rose in dark and evil days, 

To right their native land ; 
They kindled here a living blaze 

That nothing shall withstand. 
Alas that might should vanquish right I 

They fell and passed away ; 
But true men, like you, men, 

Are plenty here to-day. 

Then here's their memory ! may it be 

For us a guiding light, 
To cheer our strife for liberty, 

And teach us to unite. 
Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, 

Though sad as theirs your fate; 
And true men be you, men. 

Like those of Ninety-Eight I 



PAT'S BONDSMAN. 

'The top av the morning to ye. Father Ray, 
Ye sees it's meself as is sober the day 
It's jist getting out of a schrape that I be. 
And Mike, that's my b'y, he went bondsman for me. 

' Shure I was in court jist a fortni2:ht ago — 
'Twas when I was over in Flannigan's Row ; 



72 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 

And I had a fight with a neighbor or two — 
They said it was murther that I was up to. 

*' But shiire it was only a bit av a row, 
And ashamed I am when I think av it now; 
But one of the spalpeens fell over the stair, 
And they said 'twas meself as had helped him down there. 

*' So they brought me in court, to his honor, Jedge Shaw, 
He's a mighty hard one to come down with the law; 
And the heart in my bussom could hardly kape still 
When he read, ' Patrick Flynn, for attempting to kill.' 

" And I trembled all over when he says to me : 

* Have ye g6t any friends'll go bondsman for ye ? * 
' Nary one, plaze yer honor,' sez I ; then he said, 

In a voice that, I reckon, would most raise the dead : 

•• * Prisoner at the bar, as ye can't get no bail, 
I am owthorized now to commit ye to jail.' 
And then, Howly Virgin ! what else should T see 
But Mike walking straight to the jedge, and sez he, 

** As he took off his hat, what was torn in the rim : 

* Av ye plaze, Mister Jedge, Fll be bondsman for him. 
I ain't got no money, but I'll go his bail. 

And av he runs away you can put me to jail, 

*' ' I ain't got no mother, she died long ago. 
And left me to take care of father, ye know; 
And what wud she say if ye put him in jail 
'Cus he hadn't got no one but me for his bail ? 

** * He's good as can be when he's not drank a drop. 
And maybe if somebody asked him, he'd stop; 
He didn't push Bill ; I was there, and I see ; 
Av ye plaze, Mister Jedge, let me father go free.' 

** Saints bless the cliild forever! The jedge sez, sez he: 
' My b'y, I 'quit your f:itli(;r, and botli av ye are free 
The bail is all-sufficient; it satisfies the law.' 

* Hurrali ! ' spoke out the people; * three cheers for Justice 

Shaw!' 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 73 

' And the jedofe had some tears in his eyes, T allow, 
"When he walked np to me, and sez \u\ with a bow: 
' I've let 3-e off aisy this time, Patrick Flynn; 
For the sake av that youngster, don't come here agin.' 

' So I've taken the pledge now, yer Kiverence Ray, 
On account of the b'y, and I'm sober the day ; 
It was a bad schrape, and I'd niver got free, 
Only for Mike going bondsman for me." 

Lilian A. Moulton, in Youth's Companion. 



WASHEE, WASHEE. 

Brown John, he bends above his tub 

In cellar, alley, anywhere 

Where dirt is found, why John is there; 

And rub and rub and rub and rub. 

The hoodlum hisses in his ear ; 

*' Get out of 'ere, you yeller scrub! " 

He is at work, he cannot hear; 

He smiles that smile that knows no fear; 

And rub and rub and rub and rub, 

He calmly keeps on washing. 

The politicians bawl and crow 
To every idle chiv. and blood, 
And hurl their two hands full of m 
*' The dirty Chinaman must go! " 
But John still bends above his tub. 
And rub and rub and rub and rub ; 
He wrestles in his snowy suds 
These dirty politicians' duds ; 
And rub and rub and rub and rub. 
He calmly keeps on washing. 

** Git out o' here! yehaythin, git! 
Me Frinch ancisthers fought and blid 
For this same freedom, so they did, 
An' I'll presarve it, ye can bit! 
Phwat honest man can boss a town ? 
Or burn anither Pittsburg down ? 
Or beg .P Or strike ? Or labor shirk 



74 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Phile yez are here an' want to work ? 

Git out, I say! ye haythin, git I " 

And Silver Jimmy shied a brick 

That should have made that heathen sick; 

But John, he kept on washmg. 

Then mighty Congress shook with fear 
At this queer, silent little man. 
And cried, as Congi-ess only can : 
*' Stop washing and get out of here! " 
The small brown man, he ceased to rub, 
And raised his little shaven head 
Above the steaming, sudsy tub. 
And unto this great Congress said. 
Straightforward, business-like and truet 
"Two bittee dozen washee you! " 
Then calmly went on washing. 

Oh ! honest, faithful little John, 
If you will lay aside your duds, 
And take a sea of soap and suds 
And wash out dirty Washington ; 
If you will be the Hercules 
To cleanse our stables clean of these 
That all such follies fatten on. 
There's fifty million souls to-day 
To bid you welcome, bid you stay 
And calmly keep on washing. 

JoAQum Miller. 



ANNIE'S TICKET. 

Plaze, sir, I have brought you the ticket 

You gave her a short wake ago ; 
My own little girl I am manin', 

The one wid the fair hair, ye know, 
And the blue eyes so gentle and tendher, 

And swate as the angels above ; 
God help me, she's one of thim now, sir, 

And I've nothin' at all left to love. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 75 

It has come on me suddin, ye see, sir j 

She was niver an ailin' child, 
Though her face was as white as a lily, 

And her ways just that quiet and mild. 
The others was always a throuble, 

And botherin', too, ivery way, 
But the first tears as iver she cost me 

Are thim that I'm sheddin' to-day. 

Twas on Tuesday night that she sickened, 

She had been as blithe as a bird 
All day, wid the ticket you gave her ; 

The like of it niver was heard : 
" Oh, mammie, just think of the music ; " 

And, " Mammie, they'll give us ice crame ; 
We can roll on the turf and pick posies ; 

Oh, mammie, it's just like a drama ! " 

And so, when the fever kim on her. 

It seemed the one thought in her brain ; 
Twould have melted the heart in your breast, sir. 

To hear her, again and again, 
Beggin' : " Mammie, oh, plaze get me ready — 

The boat will be gone off, I say ; 
I hear the bell ring — where's my ticket ? 

Oh ! won't we be happy to-day ? " 

Three days, sir, she raved with the fever, 

Wid her face and hands like a flame ; 
But on Friday, at noon, she grew quiet, 

And knew me, and called me by name. 
My heart gave a lape when I heard it ; 

But, oh ! sir, it turned me to stone — 
The look round the mouth, pinched and drawn lik^ 

I knew God had sent for his own. 

And she knew it, too, sir, the crathur, 

And said, when I told her the day, 
In her wake little voice : " Mammie darlint, 

Don't cry 'cause I'm goin' away. 
To-morrow they'll go to the picnic ; 

They'll have beautiful times, I know ; 
But heaven is Kke it, and betther, 

And so I am ready to go. 



76 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

** And, mammie, I ain't a bit frightened, 

There's many a little girl died — 
And it seems like the dear, lovin' Saviour 

Was standin' right here by my side. 
Take my ticket, dear mammie, and ask 

If some other child, poor and sad, 
That hasn't got heaven and Jesus, 

May go in my place and be glad." 

And thin, " Wish good-by, mammie darlint,** 

She drew my lips down to her own, 
Thin the One she had felt close beside her 

Bent, too, and I sat there — alone. 
And so I have brought you the ticket, 

Though my heart seems ready to break, 
To ask you to make some poor crathur 

Feel glad for my dear dai'lint's sake. 



O'THELLO. 

O'thello was a sojer boiild, 

Though black he was be nature ; 
To Disdemony he was wed — 

An innocent young crayture. 

Wid her he lived in payee an' quiet, 

For she was no vyrago. 
Till on a cursed night he met 

A villin called lago. 

Sez he, '• Yer wife's a peijured jade; 
Och! she's a faithless lassie — oh! 
She doesn't care two pins for you, 
But she'd give her two eyes out for Casshio! 

** Wid him she galivants about 

All in her hours of laysure ; 
To him she gave her handkerchief 

All for to wipe his rayshure! " 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 77 

Wid that he fell into a rage, 

An' riz a wondhrons riot. 
An' swore he'd miirdther her that nighfc, 

Whin everything was quiet. 

But not wid dagger, nor with dirk, 

For that would raise a foul sthir, 
But he'd take an' blow the candle out. 

An' smother her wid the boulsther. 

Harper's Magazine. 



LANTY LEARY. 



Lanty was in love, you see, 

With lovely, lively Rosie Carey, 
But her father can't agree 

To give the girl to Lanty Leary. 
*' Up to fun, away we'll run," 

Says she, " my father 's so conthrairy, 
Won't you follow me ? won't you follow me?" 

'' Faith, 1 will ! " says Lanty Leary. 

But her father died one day 

(I hear 'twas not from dhrinking wather); 
House and land and cash, they say, 

He left by will to Rose, his daughther ; 
House and land and cash to seize, 

Away she cut so light and airy : 
" Won't you follow me ? won't you follow me ? " 

" Faith, I will ! " says Lanty Leary. 

Rose herself was taken bad, 

The fayver worse each day was growin*. 
" Lanty dear," says she, " 'tis sad, 

To th' other world I'm surely goin' j 
You can't survive my loss, I know, 

Nor long remain in Tipperary : 
Won't you follow me? won't you follow me?" 

" Faith, I won't ! " says Lanty Leary. 

Samuel Lev Eft. 



78 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



KATIE'S ANSWER. 

OCH, Katie's a rog-ne, it is thrue. 

But her eyes, like the sky, are so blue. 

An' lier dimples so swate, 

An' her ankles so nate, 
She dazed, an' she bothered me, too. 

Till one mornin' we wint for a ride. 
Whin,' demure as a bride, by my side 

The darlint, she sat, 

Wid the wickedest hat 
Neath purty girl's chin iver tied. 

An' my heart, arrah, thin how it bate! 
For my Kate looked so temptin' an' swate, 

Wid cheeks like the roses. 

An' all the red posies 
That grow in her garden so nate. 

But I sat just as mute as the dead. 
Till she said wid a toss of her head, 

" If I'd known that to-day 

Ye'd have nothing to say, 
I'd have gone wid my cousin, instead." 

Thin I felt myself gi'ow very bowld 
For I knew she'd not scold if I towld 

Uv the love in my heart. 

That would never depart, 
Though I lived to be wrinkled and old. 

An' I said • " If I dared to do so, 
I'd lit go uv the baste, and I'd throw 

Both arms round her waist. 

An' be stalin' a taste 
Uv them lips that are coaxin' me so." 

Thin she blushed a more illegent red 
As she said, without raisin'^her head, 

An' lun" eyes lookin down 

Neath her lashes so brown, 
•♦ Would ye like me to diive, Misther Ted? ** 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 79 



PADDY'S DREAM. 

I HAVE often laughed at the way an Irish help we had at 
Barnstable once fished me for a glass of whiskey. One 
morning he says to me, " Oh, yer lionor," says he, "I had a 
great drame last night intirely ! I dramed I was in Rome, 
tho' how I got there is more than I can tell : but there I was, 
sure enough ; and as in duty bound, wliat does I do but go 
and see the Pope. Well, it was a long journey, and it was 
late when I got there — too late for tlie likes of me ; and when 
I got to the palace I saw priests and bishops and cardinals, 
and all the great dignitaries of the Church, a-coming out; 
and sais one of them to me, 'How are ye, I'at Moloney?' 
sais he; 'and that spalpeen yer father, bad luck to him ! how 
is he ? ' It startlea me to hear me own name so suddent, 
that it came mighty nigh waking me up, it did. Sais I, 
*Your riverence, how in the world did ye know that Pat 
Moloney was me name, let alone tliat of nie father? ' — ' AVhy, 
ye blackguard ! ' sais he, ' I knew ye since ye was knee-high 
to a goose, and I knew yer rnotlier afore ye was born.' — 
'It's good right yer honor has then to know me,' sais I. — 
* Bad manners to ye ! ' sais he ; ' what is it ye are af ther doing 
here at this time o'night?' — 'To see his Holiness, the Pope,' 
sais I. 'That's right,' sais he; 'pass on, but leave yer im- 
pudence with yer hat and shoes at the door.' Well, I was 
shown into a mighty fine room where his Holiness was, and 
down I went on me knees. 'Rise up, Pat I\Ioloney,' sais his 
Holiness; 'ye're a broth of a boy to come all tlie way from 
Ireland to do yer duty to me; and it's dntiful children ye 
are, every mother's son of ye. AVhat will ye have to drink, 
Pat? ' (The greater a man is, the more of a rael gintleman 
he is, yer honor, and the more condescending.) ' What will 
ye have to drink, Pat? ' sais he. ' A glass of whiskey, yer 
Holiness,' sais I, ' if it's all the same to ye.' — 'Shall it be 
hot, or cold ?' sais he. 'Hot,' sais I, 'if it's all the same, 
and gives ye no trouble.' — 'Hot it shall be,' sais he; 'but 
as I have dismissed all me servants for the night, I'll just 
step down below for the tay-kettle;' and wid that he left 
the room, and was gone for a long time ; and jist as he came 
to the door again he knocked so loud the noise woke me up, 
and, be jabers ! I missed me whiskey entirely ! Bedad, if I 
had only had the sense to say ' Nate, yer Holiness,' I'd a 



80 IRISH DfALECT RECITATIONS. 

had me whiskey sure enough, and never known it warn't all 
true, instead of a drame." I knew what he wanted, so I 
poured him out a glass. " Won't it do as well now, Pat?" 
said I. " Indeed it will, yer honor," says he, " and me 
drame will come true, after all. I thought it would ; for it 
was mighty nateral at the time, all but the whiskey." 

Anonymous. 



LESSONS IN COOKERY. 

Miss Cicely Joxes is just home from boarding-school, and 
engaged to be married; and, as she knows nothing about 
cooking or housework, is going to take a few lessons in culi- 
nary art to fit her for the new station in life which she is 
expected to adorn with housewifely grace. She certainly 
makes a charming picture as she stands in the kitchen-door, 
draped in a chintz apron prettily trimmed with bows of rib- 
bon, her bangs hidden under a Dolly- Varden cap, old kid 
gloves, while she sways to and fro on her dainty French-kid 
heels, like some graceful wind-blown flower. 

"Mamma," she lisped prettily, "please introduce me to 
your assistant." 

Whereupon, mamma says, " Bridget, this is your young 
lady, JNIiss Cicely, who wants to learn the name and use of 
every thing in the kitchen, and how to make cocoanut rusks 
and angels' food, before she goes to housekeeping for her- 
self." 

Bridget gives a snort of disfavor ; but, as she looks at the 
young lady, relents, and says, " I'll throy." 

" And now, Bridget dear," says JNIiss Cicely, when they 
were alone, " tell me every thing You see, I don't know any 
thing, except what they did at school ; and isn't this old 
kitchen lovely ? What makes this ceiling such a beautiful 
bronze color, Bridget ? " 

" Shmoke," answers Bridget shortly ; " and me ould eyes 
are put out with that same." 

" Shmoke — I must remember that ; and, Bridget, what are 
those shiny things on the wall ? " 

" Kivers? — tin kivers for pots and kittles." 

"Kivers? — oh, yes; I must look for the derivation of that 
word. Bridget, what are those round things in the basket?" 

"Praties! (For the Lord's sak» where hez ye lived uiver 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 81 

to hear of praties?) ^^Tiy, them's the principal mate of Ire- 
land, where I kirn from." 

" Oh ! but we have corrupted the name into potatoes ; such 
a shame not to keep the idiom of a language ! Bridget — • 
do you mind if I call you Biddie? It is more euphonious, 
and modernizes the old classic appellation. What is this 
liquid in the pan here ? " 

"Och, murder! AVhere wuz ye raised? That's millick, 
fresh from the cow." 

" Millick ? That is the vernacular, I suppose, of milk; and 
that thick, yellow coating?" 

" Is crame. (Lord, such ignorance ! ) " 

" Crame ! Now, Biddie, dear, I must get to work. I'm 
going to make a cake all out of my own head for Henry — 
he's my lover, Biddie — to eat when he comes to-night." 

Bridget [aside'] : " It's dead he is, sure, if he ates it ! " 

" I've got it all down here, Biddie, on my tablet : A i^ound 
of butter, twenty eggs, two j)o^^i^ds of sugar, salt to your 
taste. No, that's a mistake. Oh, here it is ! Now, Biddie, 
the eggs first. It says to beat them well ; but won't that 
break the shells ? " 

" Well, I'd break thim this time if I were you, IMiss 
Cicely ; they might not set well on Mister Henry's stummack 
if ye didn't," said Bridget pleasantly. 

" Oh ! I suppose the shells are used separately. There ! I've 
broken all the eggs into the flour. I don't think I'll use the 
shells, Biddie; give them to some poor people. Now, what 
next? Oh, I'm so tired! Isn't housework dreadful hard? 
But I'm glad I've learned to make cake. Now, what shall I 
do next, Biddie ? " 

"Excuse me, Miss Cicely, but jow might give it to the 
pigs. It's meself can't see any other use for it," said 
Bridget, very crustily. 

" Pigs ! O Biddie ! you don't mean to say that you have 
some dear, cunning little white pigs ! Oh, do bring the 
little darlings in and let me feed them ! I'm just dying to 
have one for a pet ! I saw some canton-flannel ones once at 
a fair, and they were too awfully sweet for any thing." 

flust then the bell rang, and Bridget returned to announce 
]\[r. Henry ; and Cicely told Bridget she would take another 
lesson the next day : and then she went up-stairs in her chintz 
apron and mob-cap, with a little dab of flour on her tip-lifted 
nose, and told Henry she was learning to cook j and he told 



82 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

her she must not be overheated, or worried out, for he didn't 
care whether she could cook or not : he should never want to 
eat when he could talk to her, and it was only sordid souls 
that cared for cooking. 

And, meanwhile, poor Bridget was just slamming things in 
the kitchen, and talking to herself in her own sweet idiom 
about " idgits tui'ning things upside down for her incon- 
vaniencing." Detroit Free Press, 



THE IRISH TRAVELLER. 

An Irishman travelling, though not for delight, 

Arrived in a city one cold winter's night ; 

Found the landlord and servants in bed at the inn, 

While standing without, he was drenched to the skin. 

He groped for the knocker, no knocker was found ; 

Then turning his head accidentally round, 

He saw, as he thought, by the lamp's feeble ray, 

The object he searched for right over the way. 

The knocker he grasped, and so loud was the roar 

It seemed like a sledge breaking open the door. 

The street, far and wide, was awoke by the clang. 

And sounded aloud with the Irishman's bang. 

The wife screamed aloud, and the husband appears 

At the window, his shoulders shrugged up to his ears. 

" So ho, honest friend, pray what is the matter. 

That at this time of night you should make such a clatter? ' 

" Go to bed, go to bed ! " says Pat, " my dear honey, 

I am not a robber to ask for your money ; 

I borrowed your knocker before it was day, 

To waken the landlord rigid over the way.'^ 



TEDDY'S SIX BULLS. 

A MKRRY evening party in an English country town were 
bantering poor Teddy O'Toole, the Irishman, about his 
countrymen being so famous for bulls. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 83 

"By my faith," said Teddy, "you needn't talk about that 
same in this place : you're as fond of bulls as any people in 
all the world, so you are." 

" Nonsense ! " some of the party replied ; " how do you 
make that out ? " 

'< Why, sure, it's very aisy, it is ; for in this paltry bit of 
a town you've got more public houses nor I ever seen wid 
the sign of the bull over the doors, so you have," said Teddy. 

" Nay, Teddy, very few of those ; but there's some of 'em, 
you know, in every town." 

" Yes," said Teddy, obstinately sticking to his text, for he 
had laid a trap for his friends ; " but you've more nor your 
share, barring that you're so fond of bulls, as I say. I'm sure 
I can count half a dozen of 'em.' 

" Pooh, nonsense ! " cried the party : " that will never do. 
What'U you bet on that, Teddy ? You're out there, my boy^ 
depend upon it : we know the town as well as you ; and what 
will you bet ? " 

*' Indeed, my brave boys, I'll not bet at all. I'm no better, 
I assure ye : I should be worse, if I wur." This sally tickled 
his companions, and he proceeded. " But I'll be bound to 
name and count the six." 

" Well, do, do," said several voices. 

*' Now, let me see ; there's the Black Bull." 

"Yes, that's one." 
• " Then, there's the Red Bull." 

« That's two." 

" And the White Bull.'* 

*' Come, that's three." 

" And the Pied Bull." 

*' So there is ; you'll not go much farther.'* 

*' And then there's — there's — there's the Golden Bull, in 
— what's it street ? " 

" W^ell done, Teddy ; there's five, sure enough ; but you're 
short yet." 

" Ay," said the little letter-carrier, who sat smirking in 
the corner, " and he will be short ; for there isn't one more, I 
know." 

" And then, remember," continued Teddy, carefully pur- 
suing his enumeration, " there's the Dun Cow." 

At this a burst of laughter fairly shook the room, and 
busy hands kept the tables and glasses rattling, amidst bois- 
terous cries of, — 



84 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



« A bull ! a bull 1 " 

Looking serious at all around, Teddy deliberately asked, • 
" Do you call that a bull ? " 

' ' To be sure, it's a bull," exclaimed several voices 
once. 

" Then," said Teddy, " that's the sixth." 



A MIRACLE. 



An Irish priest on miracles a sermon one day preached ; 
And on his way home from the church, before his home he 

reached, 
Was overtaken by a man whose name was Patrick Kent, 
Who wished a miracle explained : he didn't know what one 

meant. 

" A miracle, is it? " said the priest. " You want me to ex- 
plain. 

So when I say a miracle, you'll know just what I mane? 

Well, thin, walk on foniinst me now : come, hurry and be 
quick." 

The man walked on : the priest walked up, and gave Pat 
quite a kick. 

" Och ! " roared the sufferer, feeling sore, " an' sure phy did 

ye that ? " 
"An' did ye fale it?" asked the priest. "Begor I did,'* 

said Pat. 
" Ah, ha ! ye felt it then, ye did, — ye felt the kick ye got? 
Well, sir, 'twould been a miracle if ye had felt it not." 

Charles H. Webber. 



PAT AND MISS SKITTY. 

Arrah! you're a throublesome creatliur, 
Miss Skitty, and that is quite true : 

To think I should come from old Ireland, 
To be bit by a varmint like you ! 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 85 

Och, now, then be off with your whispers ! 

Sure, you have no manners at all. 
Miss Skitty, indade ! I won't miss ye, 

But lave ye jist flat on the wall. 

Bedad, she has slipped through my fingers I 

As clean as a whistle she's gone ; 
And jist as I got right f orninst her, 

And wanted to pinch her back-bone I 

Be aisy, now, Patrick ; keep civil : 

She's a fairy, maybe, in disguise ; 
For, light as the seed of a thistle, 

Out of sight she entirely flies. 

Miss Skitty, Miss Skitty, my darlint, 

Come, whisper a word in ray ear. 
Be aisy, now, Patrick, be aisy ; 

The bloodthirsty villain is near ! 

Take that, now ! Indade, I have caught her, 

And laid her out flat for her wake. 
Bedad, my own cheek I've been thumping 1 

Bad luck ! She has made her escape ! 

Faith, then, my own Skitty, my honey, 

'Tis you that are nimble of wing ; 
'Tis you has the sweetest of voices ; 

Come, teach me the tunes that ye sing. 

Whist I All unbeknownst I'll steal on her ; 

She's settled hersel' on the pane. 
Confess all your sins, now. Miss Skitty : 

You'll ne'er say a prayer again. 

Och, now, what has happened the winder ? 

By my soul, the fairy's slipped through ! 
An' what shall I say to the missus ? 

For she's left a hole in it, too I 

Bedad, I have cut my own knuckles ! 

But sorra a bit would I care, 
If only I hurted the torment 

As much as the loss of a hair. 



86 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Faith, she's an ill-mannered creathur, 
A stain on the land of the free, — 

That the likes of her should be spilling 
The best blood on this side the sea ! 

I wisht I was back in old Ireland ; 

Or else that Saint Pat lived below, 
To banish the vile Miss Skitties, 

As he banished the snakes long ago. 

Bessie Bendy. 



AT THE RISING OF THE MOON. 

*'0n, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, 

Tell me why you hurry so? " 
"Hush, ma bouchal, hush and listen;" 

And his cheeks were all aglow. 
"I bear ordhers from the captain: 

Get you ready, quick and soon ; 
For the pikes must be together 

At the risin' of the moon." 

"Oh, then! tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, 

Where the gatherin' is to be ? " 
"In the ould spot by the river, 
Right well known to you and me. 
One word more — for signal token, 

Whistle up the marchin' tune, 
With your pike upon your shoulder 
By the risin' of the moon." 

Out from many a mud-wall cabin, 

Eyes were watching through that night: 
Many a manly chest was throbbing 

For the blessed warning light. 
Murmurs passed along the valley, 

Like the banshee's lonely croon. 
And a thousand blades were flashing, 

At the risin' of the moon. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 87 

There beside the singing river 

That dark jnass of men was seen, 
Far above the shining weapons 

Hung their own beloved green. 
*' Death to every foe and traitor! 

Forward, strike the marchin' tnne, 
And hurrah, my boys, for freedom ! 

'Tis the risin' of the moon." 

Well, they fought for poor old Ireland, 

And full bitter was their fate. 
(Oh ! what glorious pride and sorrow 

Fill the name of Ninety-eight ! ) 
Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating 

Hearts in manhood's burning noon, 
Who would follow in their footsteps 

At the risin' of the moon 1 

Leo Casey. 



THE IRISH SCHOOLMASTER. 

Old Teddy O'Rourke kept a nice little school at a place 
called Ciarina, in the South of Ireland. He hadn't map.y 
scholars, because the folks in those parts were tor the most 
part too poor to send their children to school, and they 
picked up their learning as pig's do their meat; still Teddy 
had some pupils, though they were a roguish lot, in spite of 
their having to pay a penny a week extra to be taught man- 
ners. 

Teddy's schoolroom was a bit of a shed : and the boys 
couldn't complain of bad ventilation, seeing that there was 
a hole in the roof which left it o^ien to the blue sky, and 
the rain too ; for in those parts, when the rain does pour, it 
comes down mightily. 

^ Well, one morning, says Ted, " I^Iy boys, since all of you 
are here, I'll just call over your names to see that none 
of you are missing. Gerald McShaa?" — "I'm here, sir." 
" Paddy O'Shaughnessy? " — " Here, but my brother Barney 
ain't." "Where is j'our brother Barney, thenV" — "He's 
dead, sir, and they are going to wake him." "Are they? 
well, 5^ou go and sit down by the fire, and lam your task, 
and don't be falling asleep, or I'll be waking you. — Paddy 
MacShane, my darling, come here, and bring your ugly face 



88 IRISH DIALECT Ri.CITAT IONS. 

wid Ton, and spell me Constantinople." — "I can't, «?!>.*' — 
" Can't von ? then bv the j)Owei-s I'll teach yon : first of all, vou 
see, there's C." — "C." "0." — "O." "N." — "N." "Con." 

— " Con." " That's the Con." — " That's the Con." *' S." — 
«S." "T." — "T." "A." — "A." "N." — "N." "Stan.- 

— "Stan." "That's the Stan."— " That's the Stan." 
" And the Constan." — " And the Constan." " T." — " T." 
«I."— "I." "Ti." — "Ti." "That's the Ti." — "That's 
the Ti." "And the Stanti." — " And the Stanti." "And 
the Constant!." — "And the Constant!." " N." — " N." "O." 

— " O." " No." — " No." " That's the No." — " That's the 
No." "And the Tino." — " And the Tino." " And the Stan- 
tino." — "And the Stantino." "And the Constantino." — 
"And the Constantino." "P."_"P." "L." — "L." "fi." 

— "E." "Pie." — "Pull." "That's the Pie." — " That's 
the Pull." " And the Nople." — " And the Nopull." " And 
the Tinople." — *' And the Tinopull." "And the Stantino- 
ple." — " And the Stantinopnll." " And the Constantinople." 

— " And the Constantinopnll." 

" Now," said Teddy to Felix O'Brian, " before you go doKm^ 
come up and say your letters. What is the name of the 
first letter in the alphabet ? " — " X, sir. " — " No, sir. What 
does your father give the donkey to eat, sir? " — "Nothing, 
sir. " — " And what else, sir V " — " Hay, sir. " — " Aye, that's 
a good boy; and what's next to A?" — "Don't know, sir." 

— " What is the name of that great bird that flies about the 
garden, and stings the people ? " — "A wasp, sir." — " No, sir. 
What is it that makes all the honey ? " — " Bee, sir." — " B — 
that's right; B a good boy, and mind what I say, and you'll 
be a beautiful scholar. Now, the next letter to B, what is 
it? " — "I don't know, sir." — " Wliat do I do when I turn up 
my eyes ? " — " You squint, sir." — " And what else, sir? ' y^ 
" You see." — " C — that's riglit : now what's»Tiext to C ? * — 
" W, sir." — " AVhat is your grandmother's name? " — " Judee, 
sir." — " Arrah, can't you say I) without the Ju?" — ** Yes, 
sir, D and no Jew."— " Well,"sir? " — " E, F."— " Well, what 
do you stop for?" — " Because 1 can't go no further." — " What 
do the wagoners say when they want their horses to go 
faster?" — "Gee ho, dobbin." — "G, and no ho dobbin." — 
" II."—" AVell, that's right ; and what follows H ? " — » Don't 
know." — "AVhat has your mother got by the side of her 
nose?" — "A pimple, sir." — "A pimple!" — "Yes, sir, and 
one eye." — "I — that's a good boy : you're my head scholar, 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 89 

and will soon he a man. Well, go on." — "J." — "What's 
next to J V " — " I'm sure I don't know." — " "What does your 
mother open the door with?" — "A poker, sir." — "And 
what besides?" — "A string, sir." — "And what else? " — "A 
kay, sir." — "K — that's right, to be sure, — she opens the 
door with a key. Now, wdiat's next to K ? " — " L."— " ^Vell, 
and what's next? " — " Don't know, sir." — ■" What does your 
mother do with her nightcaps when she makes them?" — 
"She pawns them, sir." — "Stoopid booby ! how does she make 
them ? " — " She cuts them out, and hems them." — " Can't 
you say ^1 and no cut out? " — "M and no cut out." — "I'll 
cut out your jacket. — What's next? " — " Don't know, sir." 

— " How does your mother get her eggs? " — "■ She buys 'em, 
sir." — " Doesn't the hen lay them ? " — " Father sold the hen 
to buy whiskey." — "Och the ungrateful young scamp of an 
informer! take that! " — "Oh! " — " O— right at last. I 
thought I'd make you say O. Goon." — " J can't, sir." — 
" What does Biddy feed the pigs with?" — " Pays, sir, and 
praties." — " Say pay and no praties." — " Pay and no praties." 

— " And it's no praties you shall have to-day, for you'll go 
and stand in the corner. Send up the next boy." 



HOW DENNIS TOOK THE PLEDGE. 

A T^niEKiCK Irishman named Dennis, addicted to strongs 
drink, was often nrged by his friends to sign tlie pledge, 
but with no avail, until one day they rend to him from a 
newspaper an account of a man who liad become so thor- 
oughly saturated with alcohol, that, on attempting to blow 
out a candle, his breath ignited, and he was instantly blown 
to atoms. Dennis's face showed mingled horror and con- 
trition, and his friends thought that the long-desired moment 
of repentance was at hand. 

"Bring me the book, boys, bring me the book! Troth, 
his breath took foir, did it? Sure, I'll niver die that death, 
onvhow," said Dennis, with the most solemn countenance 
imnuinable. "Hear me now, b'ys, hear me now. I.Den- 
nis P'innegan, knowin' my great wakeness, deeply sinsible 
of juv past sins, nn' the great danger I've been in, hereby 
taki' me solemn oath, that, so long as I live, under no pro- 
vocation whativer, will I — blow out a candil ayin! ^* 



90 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



V^^HEN McGUE PUTS THE BABY TO 
SLEEP. 

We have a foine tinement, close be the bridge, 

Wid three pairs of stairs and a farm. 
The farm's on the roof, but it's ilegaut just 

For to kape the small childer from harm. 
The railiii' is hig'h. Shiire it's tired they get 

From playin' "puss corner" an' ''peep," 
An' 'twould do your heart good in the twilight to see 

Ould iMcGue put the baby to sleep. 

McGue is my man, an' a daisy he is, 

For after the gas-house shuts down 
He comes wid his pail (faith, the coal on his face 

Gives the shake to the boys of the town). 
Then he sits down wid me, an' his poipe, an' his chair, 

Comfortable, cosey, an' deep, 
Wid the kid in his arms ; it would break you to see 

Ould McGue put the baby to sleep. 

He sings him the chune of " The Old Phwiskey Jug,** 

An' juggles him up on his knee 
As light as the mist from ould Erin's green turf 

That floats from the bog to the sea. 
Then the gossoon lies back like a king on his couch. 

An' the shadows across his eyes creep; 
I'll lay you a bet, it's a beautiful sight, 

When McGue puts the baby to sleep. 

Then the ould man says " Phwist ! " as the first darling 
snore 

He hears from the swate, sleeping child; 
An' he steps to the cradle, as aisy as mud. 

An' the drop of a pin makes him wild. 
*' The Virgin take care of that baby ! " his prayer 

Comes out of the heart low and deep; 
It would kill the ould man if the kid should refuse 

John JNlcGue for to put him to sleep. 



I 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 91 



THE CONFESSION. 

Paddy McCabe was dying one day, 

And Father Molloy he came to confess him ; 
Paddy prayM hard he would make no delay 

But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless hira. 
" First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, 
" For I'm thinking youVe not been a very good boy." 
*'Oh," says Paddy, "so late in the evenin' I fear 
'Twould throuble you such a long story to hear. 
For youVe ten long miles o'er the mountain to go. 
While the road Foe to travel's much longer, you know: 
So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle, 
To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle; 
And the docthor gave ordhers to keep me so quiet — 
'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it, 
And your Reverence has towld us, unless we tell all, 
'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all : 
So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy. 
And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy." 

" Well, I'll read from a book," says Father ^loUoy, 

"The manifold sins that humanity's heir to; 
And when you hear those tii.it your conscience annoy, 

.You'll just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto.*' 
Then the Father began the dark roll of iniquity. 
And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety. 
And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar — 
" Oh, murdher! " says Paddy, "don't read any more, 
For, if you keep readin', by all that is thrue. 
Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue ; 
Besides, to be throubled my conscience begins. 
That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins ; 
So you'd betther suppose I committed them all. 
For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small. 
Or if they're a dozen, or if tliey're four-score, 
'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore : 
So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy. 
And, therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy," 

" W(;ll," says Father IMolloy, " if your sins T forgive, 
So you must forgive all your enemies truly ; 



92 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

And promise me also that, if you should live. 

You'll leave oil" your old tricks, and begin to live newly.*' 
" I forgive ev'rybody," snvs Pat, with a groan, 
" Except that big vagabone Micky Malone ; 
And him I will murdher if ever I can — " 
"Tut, Tilt! '' sa3^s the priest, " you're a very bad man; 
For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, 
You'll ne'er go to Heaven, and that is my sentence." 
" Poo!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case, 
With your Reverence and Heaven I'm content to make pace, 
But with Heaven and your Reverence I Avondher — Och hone^ 
You would think of comparin' that blackguard Malone — 
But since I'm hard press'd and that I must forgive, 
I forgive — if I die — but as sure as I live 
That ugly blackguard I will surely desthroy! — 
So, 7iowiov your blessin', sweet Father Molloy!" 

LOVEB. 



FATHER PHIL'S COLLECTION. 

Father Blake was more familiarly known by the name 
of Father Phil. By either title, or in whatever capacity, the 
worthy Father had great influence over his parish ; and there 
was a free-and-easy way with him, even in doing the most 
solemn duties, which agreed wonderfully with the devil-may- 
care spirit of Paddy. Stiff and starched formality in any 
way is repugnant to the very nature of Irishmen. There 
are forms, it is true, and many, in the Romish Church ; but 
they are not cold forms, but attractive rather to a sensitive 
people. Besides, I believe those very forms, when observed 
the least formally, are the most influential on the Irish. 

With all his intrinsic worth, Father Phil was, at the same 
time, a strange man in exterior manners; for, with an abun- 
dance of real piety, he had an abruptness of delivery, and a 
strange way of mixing up an occasional remark to his con- 
gregation in the midst of the celebration of the mass, which 
might well startle a stranger. But this very want of for- 
mality made him beloved by the people, and they would do 
ten times as much for Father Phil as for the severe Father 
Dominick. 

On tlie Sunday in question. Father Phil intended deliver- 
ing an address to his flock from the altar, urging them to 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 93 

the necessity of bestirring themselves in the repairs of the 
chapel, which was in a very dilapidated condition, and at 
one end let in the rain through its worn-out thatch. A sub- 
scription was necessary; and to raise this among a very 
impoverished people was no easy matter. The weather hap- 
pened to be unfavorable, which was most favorable to Father 
Phil's purpose ; for the rain dropped its arguments through 
the roof upon the kneeling people below, in the most con- 
vincing manner ; and, as they endeavored to get out of the 
wet, they pressed round the altar as much as they could, for 
which they were reproved very smartly by his Reverence, in 
the very midst of the mass. These interruptions occurred 
sometimes in the most serious places, producing a ludicrous 
effect, of which the worthy Father was quite unconscious, 
in his great anxiety to make the people repair the chapel. 

A big woman was elbowing her way towards the rails of 
the altar; and Father Phil, casting a sidelong glance at her, 
sent her to the right-about, while he interrupted his appeal 
to Heaven to address her thus : — 

^^^ Agnus Del' — You'd betther jump over the rails of 
the althar, I think. Go along out o' that. There's plenty 
o' room in the chapel below there." 

Then he would turn to the altar, and proceed with the 
service, till, turning again to the congregation, he perceived 
some fresh offender. 

',' ' Orate fratres." — Will you mind what I say to you, and 
go along out o' that? There's room below there. Thrue 
for you, Mrs. Finn, it's a shame for him to be thramplin' on 
you. Go along. Darby Casy, down there, and kneel in the 
rain. It's a pity you haven't a decent woman's cloak under 
you, indeed ! ' Orate fratres ! ' " 

Then would the service proceed again, till the shuffling of 
feet edging out of the rain would disturb him ; and, casting 
a backward glance, he would say, — 

" I hear you there ! Can't you be quiet, and not be dis- 
turbin' my mass, you haythens ? " 

Again he proceeded, till the crying of a child interrupted 
him. He looked around quickly. 

" You'd betther kill the child, I think, thramplin' on him, 
Lavery. Go out o' that. Your conduct is scandalous. — • 
' Dominus vobiscum ! ' " 

Again he turned to pray ; and, after some time, he made 
Lui interval in the service to address his congregation on the 



94 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

subject of the repairs, and produced a paper containing the 
names of subscribers to that pious work who liad already 
contributed, by way of example to those who had not. 

" Here it is," said Father Phil, " here it is, and no denying 
it, down in black and white. But if they who give are down 
in black, how much blacker are those who have not given 
at all ! But I hope they will be ashamed of themselves 
when I howld up those to honor who have contributed to 
the uphowlding of the house of God. And isn't it asliamed 
o' yourselves you ought to be, to lave his house in such a 
condition? And doesn't it rain a'most every Sunday, as ii 
he wished to remind you of your duty ? Aren't you wet tQ 
the skin a'most every Sunday ? Oh, God is good to you, 
to put you in mind of your duty, giving you such bitther 
cowlds that you are coughing and sneezin' every Sunday to 
that degree that you can't hear the blessed mass for a com- 
fort and a benefit to you ! And so you'll go on sneezin' until 
you put a good thatch on the place, and prevent the appear- 
ance of the evidence from Heaven against you every Sun- 
day, which is condemning you before your faces, and behind 
your backs, too ; for don't I see, this minute, a strame o' 
wather that might turn a mill, running down Micky Macka- 
voy's back, between the collar of his coat and his shirt? " 

Here a laugh ensued at the expense of Micky ^lackavoy, 
who certainly ivas under a very heavy drip from the imper- 
fect roof. 

" And is it laughin' you are, you haythens ? " said Father 
Phil, reproving the merriment which he himself had pur- 
posely created that he might reprove it. " Laughin' is it you 
are at your backslidings and insensibility to the honor of 
God, — laughin', because wiien you come here to be saved, 
you are lost entirely with the wet? And how, I ask you, are 
my words of comfort to enter your hearts, when the rain is 
pouring down your backs at the same time? Sure, I have 
no chance of turning your hearts, while you are undher rain 
that might turn a mill. But once put a good roof on the 
house, and I will inundate you with piety. Maybe it's 
Father Dominick you would like to have coming among 
you, who would grind your hearts to powdher with his 
heavy words. [Here a low murmur of dissent ran through 
the throng.] Ha, ha! so you wouldn't like it, I see. Very 
well, vei"y well. Take care, then; for if I find you insen- 
sible to my moderate reproofs, you iiard-hearted haythens, 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 95 

you malefacthors and cruel persecuthors, that won't put 
your hands in your pockets because your mild and quiet 
poor fool of a pasthor has no tongue in his head ! I say, 
your mild, quiet, poor fool of a pasthor (for I know my own 
faults partly, God forgive me). And I can't spake to you 
as you deserve, you hard-living vagabonds, that are as insen- 
sible to your duties as you are to the weather. I wish it 
was sugar or salt that you were made of ; and then the rain 
might melt you, if / couldn't. But no. Them naked 
rafthers grins in your face to no purpose. You chate the 
house of God. But take care; maybe you won't chate the 
Divil so aisy. [Here there was a sensation.] Ha, ha! that 
makes you open your ears, does it ? More shame for you. 
You ought to despise that dirty enemy of man, and depend 
on something better. But I see I must call you to a sense 
of your situation, with the bottomless pit undher you, and 
no roof over you. Oh, dear, dear, dear ! I'm ashamed of 
you ! Throth, if I had time and sthraw enough, I'd rather 
thatch the place myself, than lose my time talking to you. 
Sure, the place is more like a stable than a chapel. Oh, 
think of that ! — the house of God to be like a stable! For 
though our Redeemer was born in a stable, that is no reason 
why you are to keep his house always like one. 

"And now I will read you the^ist of subscribers; and it 
will make you ashamed when 3^ou near the names of several 
good and worthy Protestants in the parish, and out of it, 
too, who have given more than the Catholics." 

He then proceeded to read the following list, which he 
interlarded copiously with observations of his own, making 
vioa voce marginal notes, as it were, upon the subscribers, 
which were not unfrequently answered by the persons so 
noticed from the body of the chapel ; and laughter was 
often the consequence of these rejoinders, which Father Phil 
never permitted to pass without a retort. Nor must all this 
be considered in the least irreverent. A certain period is 
allowed between two particular portions of the mass, when 
the priest may address his congregation on any public mat- 
ter, — an approaching pattern or fair or the like, in which 
exhortations to propriety of conduct, or warnings against 
faction, fights, etc., are his themes. Then they only listen 
in reverence. But. when a subscription for such an object 
as that already mentioned is under discussion, the flock con 
sider themselves entitled to "put in a word" in case of 



96 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

necessity. This preliminary hint is given to the reader that 
he may better enter into the spuit of Father Phil's 



SUBSCRIPTION LIST 

FOR THE REPAIRS AND ENLARGEMENT OF BALLYSLOUGH- 
GUTTHERY CHAPEL. 

Philip Blake, P.P. 

"'Mick Hickey, £0. 75. M.* He might as well have 
made it ten shillings. But half a loaf is betther than no 
bread." 

"Plaze, your Reverence," says Mick, from the body of the 
chapel, " sure seven and sixpence is more than the half of 
ten shillings." (A laugh.) 

" Oh, how witty you are ! Faith, if you knew your pray- 
ers as well as your arithmetic, it would be betther for you, 
Micky." 

Here the Father turned the laugh against Mick. 

" ' Billy Riley, £0. Zs. 4c?.' Of course he means to sub- 
scribe again ! 

'"John Dwyer, £0. 15^. Od* That's something like. I'll 
be bound he's only keeping back the odd five shillings for a 
brush full o' paint for the althar. It's as black as a crow, 
instead o' being as a dove." 

He then hurried over rapidly some small subscribers as 
follows : — 

" ' Peter Hefferman, £0. Is. M. 

"'James Murphy, £0. 2:.-. 6J. 

" ' Mat Donovan, £0. Is. Zd. 

" ' Luke Dannely, £0. Ss. Of/. 

"'Jack Quigly, £0. 2^. Id. 

" ' Pat Finnegan, £0. 2s. 2d. 

"'Edward O'Connor, Esq., £2. Os. Of/.' There's for 
you! Edward O'Connor, Esq., — a Protestant in the jyarish, 
— two pounds ! " 

" Long life to him ! " cried a voice in the chapel. 

"Amen!" said Father Phil. "I'm not ashamed to be 
clerk to so good a pi'ayer. 

" ' Nicholas Fagan, £0. 2s. 6(/. 

"'Young Nicholas Fagan, £0. 5s. Of/.' Young Nick is 
betther than owld Nick, you see. 



TRTSH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 97 

«'Tim Doyle, £0. 7s. M. 

" ' Owny Doyle, £1. Os. Oc?.* Well done, Owny na Coppal ! 
You deserve to prosper, for you make good use of your 
thrivings. 

" ' Simon Leary, £0. 25. Qd. Bridget Murphy, £0. 10.«f. Or/.' 
You ought to be ashamed o' yourself, Simon ! A lone widow- 
woman gives more than you." 

Simon answered, " I have a large family, sir ; and she has 
no childher." 

" That's not her fault," said the priest. " And maybe she'll 
mend o' that yet." This excited much merriment ; for the 
widow was buxom, and had recently buried an old husband, 
and, hj all accounts, was cocking her cap at a handsome 
young fellow in the parish. 

'"Jude Moylan, £0. 5s. Or/.' Very good, Judy. The 
women are behaving like gentlemen. They'll have their 
reward in the next world. 

" 'Pat Finnerty, £0. 8s. 4(/-.' I'm not sure if it is 8s. 4cf. 
or 3s. 4(/., for the figure is blotted; but I believe it is 8s. 
4t/." 

" It was three and fourpince I gave, your Reverence," said 
Pat from the crowd. 

" Well, Pat, as I said eight and fourpence, you must not 
let me go back o' my word : so bring me five shillings next 
week." 

" Sure, you wouldn't have me pay for a blot, sir?" 

" Yis, I would : that's the rule of backgammon, you know, 
Pat, — when I hit the mark, you pay for it." 

Here his Reverence turned around, as if looking for some 
one, and called out, " Raffert}^, Rafferty, Rafferty ! Where 
are you, Rafferty? " 

An old gray-headed man appeared, bearing a large plate ; 
and Father Phil continued, — 

" There, now, be active. I'm sending him among you, 
good people ; and such as cannot give as much as you would 
like to be read before your neighbors, give what little you 
can towards the repairs ; and I will continue to read out the 
names, by way of encouragement to you, — and the next 
name I see is that of Squire Egan. Long life to him! 

"'Squire Egan, £5. Os. Of/.' Squire Egan, five pounds! 
Listen to that! A Protestant in the parish, five pounds! 
Faith, the Protestants will make you ashamed of yourselves, 
if you don't take care ! 



98 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" * Mrs. Flanagan, £2. Os. M. ' Not her own parish, either. 
A fine lady. 

"'James Milligan of Roundtown, £1 Os. Orf.' And here 
I must remark that the people of Roundtown have not been 
backward in coming forward on this occasion. I have a long 
list from Roundtown, — I will read it separate " He then 
proceeded at a great pace, jumbling the town and the pounds 
and the people in the most extraordinary manner: " 'James 
Milligan of Roundtown, one pound ; Darby Daly of Round- 
town, one pound; Sam Finnegan of Roundtowni, one pound; 
James Casey of Roundpound, one town; Kit Dwyer of 
Townpound, one round — pound, I mane; Pat Roundpound 
— Pounden, I mane — Pat Pounden, a pound, of Pound- 
town also.' There's an example for you ! 

"But what are you about, Rafferty? I don't like the 
sound of that plate of yours. You are not a good gleaner. 
Go up first into the gallery there, where I see so many good- 
looking bonnets. I suppose they will give something to 
keep their bonnets out of the rain ; for the wet will be into 
the gallery next Sunday, if they don't. I think that is 
Kitty Crow I see, getting her bit of silver ready. Them 
ribbons of yours cost a thrifle, Kitty. — Well, good Chris- 
tians, here is more of the subscription for you : — 

"'Matthew Lavery, £0 2s. 6d.' He doesn't belong to 
Roundtown. Roundtown will be renowaied in future ages 
for the support of the Church. Mark my words, Round- 
town will prosper from this day out, Roundtown will be a 
rising place. 

" ' Mark Hennessy, £0 2.^. Gd. ; Luke Clancy, £0. 25. 6d. ; 
John Doolin, £0. 2s. 6c/.' One would think they had all 
agreed only to give two and sixpence apiece ; and they com- 
fortable men, too! And look at their names, — ^latthew, 
Mark, Luke, and John, — the names of the blessed Evan- 
gelists ; and only ten shillings among them ! Oh, they are 
apostles not worthy the name! We'll call them the poor 
apostles from this out. [Here a low laugh ran through the 
chapel.] Do you hear that, Matthew, INIark, Luke, and 
John? Faith, I can tell you that name will stick to you." 
(Here the laugh was louder.) 

A voice, when tlie laugh subsided, exclaimed, " I'll make 
it ten shillin's, your Reverence." 

" Who's that?" said Father Phil. 

"Ilenuessy, your Reverence." 



IRISH DTALECT RECITATIONS. 99 

" Very well, Mark. I suppose Matthew, Luke, and John 
will follow your example." 

" We will, your Reverence." 

"Ha! I thought you made a mistake. AVe'll call you now 
the faithful apostles, and I think the change in your name 
is better than seven and sixpence apiece to you. 

" I see you in the gallery there, Rafferty. What do you 
pass that well-dressed woman for? Thry back. Ha! see 
that. She had her money ready, if you only asked her for 
it. Don't go by that other woman there. Oh, ho ! So you 
won't give any thing, ma'am! You ought to be ashamed of 
yourself. There is a woman with an elegant sthraw boimet, 
and she won't give a farthing. Well now, afther that, re- 
member — I give it from the althar — that, from this day 
out, sthraw bonnets pay fi'penny pieces. 

"'Thomas Durfy, Esq., £1. Os. Oc/.' It's not his parish, 
and he's a brave gentleman. 

"'Miss Fanny Dawson, £1. Os. 0<i.' A Protestant out of 
the parish, and a sweet young lady, God bless her ! Oh, faith, 
the Protestants is shaming you ! 

" ' Dennis Fannin, £0. 7s. Qd.' Very good indeed for a 
working mason. 

"'Jemmy Riley, £0. y,fis. Od.* Not bad for a hedge car- 
penther." 

"I gave you ten, plaze, your Reverence," shouted Jemmy. 
" And by the same token, you may remember it was on tho 
Nativity of the blessed Vargin, sir, I gave you the second 
five shillin's." 

" So you did. Jemmy," cried Father Phil. " I put a little 
cross before it, to remind me of it. But I was in a hurry to 
make a sick-call when you gave it to me, and forgot it afther. 
And, indeed, myself doesn't know what I did with that same 
five shillings." 

Here a pallid woman, who was kneeling near the rails of 
the altar, uttered an impassioned blessing, and exclaimed, 
"Oh, that was the very five shillings, I'm sure, you gave to 
me that very day, to buy some little comforts for my poor 
husband, who v/as dying in the fever ! " And the poor woman 
burst into loud sobs as she spoke. 

A deep thrill of emotion ran through the flock as this 
accidental proof of their poor pastor's beneficence burst 
upon them. And as an affectionate murmur began to rise 
above the silence which that emotion produced, the burly 



100 TRJSH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Father Philip blushed like a girl at this publication of his 
charity, and, even at the foot of that altar where he stood, 
felt something like shame in being discovered in the com- 
mission of that virtue so highly commended by the Provi- 
dence to whose worship that altar was raised. He uttered 
a hasty " Whisht, whisht I " and w-aved with his outstretched 
hands his flock into silence. 

In an instant one of those sudden changes so common to 
an Irish assembly, and scarcely credible to a stranger, took 
place. The multitude was hushed, the grotesque of the sub- 
scription-list had passed away and was forgotten, and that 
same man and that same multitude stood in altered rela- 
lations, — they were again a reverent flock, and he once more 
a solemn pastor. The natural play of his nation's mirthful 
sarcasm was absorbed in a moment in the sacredness of his 
office; and, with a solemnity befitting the highest occasion, 
he placed his hands together before his breast, and, raising 
his eyes to heaven, he poured forth his sweet voice, with a 
tone of the deepest devotion, in that reverential call for 
prayer, " Orate fralres ! " 

The sound of a multitude gently kneeling down followed, 
like the soft breaking of a quiet sea on a sandy beach. And 
when Father Philip turned to the altar to pray, his pent-up 
feelings found vent in tears, and while he prayed he wept. 

I believe such scenes as this are of not unfrequent occur- 
rence in Ireland, — that country so long-suffering, so nmch 
maligned, and so little understood. 

O rulers of Ireland ! why have you not sooner learned to 
lead that people by love, whom all your severity has been 
unable to drive ? 

Samuel Lover. 



ST. PATRICK'S MARTYRS. 

I WONDER what the mischief was in her! for the mistress 
was niver contrairy; 

But this same is just what she said to me, just as sure as my 
name is Mary : 

"Mary," says she, all a-smiling and swate like, "the young 
ladies are coming from Francu^ 

And we'll give them a welcome next IMonday, with an ele- 
gant supper and dance." 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 101 

" Is it Monday, ye're maning ? " says I, " ma'am ; why, thin, 

I'm sorry to stand in yer way, 
But it's little of work I'll do Monday, seeing that Monday's 

St. Patrick's Day ; 
And sure it's meself that promised to go wid Cousin Kitty 

Malone's brother Dan, 
And bad luck to Mary Magee," says I, "if she disappoints 

such a swate young man ! " 

'* Me children have been away four years," — and she spoke 

in a very unfeelin' way, — 
"Ye cannot expect I shall disappoint them either for you or 

St. Patrick's Day : 
I know nothing about St. Patrick." — " That's true for ye, 

ma'am, more's the pity," says I, 
" For it's niver the likes of ye has the luck to be born under 

the Irish sky." 

Ye see I was getting past jokin' — and she sitting there so 

aisy and proud. 
And me thinking of the Third Avenue, and the procession 

and music and crowd; 
And it crossed me mind that minit consarning Thady ]\Iul- 

ligan's supper and dance. 
Says I, " It's not JNlary Magee, ma'am, that can stay for ladies 

coming from France." 

"Mary," sa3'S she, * "two afternoons each week — iveiy 

Wednesday and ivery JNIonday — 
Ye've always had, besides ivery early Mass, and yer Vespers 

ivery other Sunday ; ^ 

And yer friends hev visited at me house, two or three of 

them ivery night." 
" Indade thin," says I, "that was nothin' at all, but ivery 

dacent girl's right ! " 

"Very well, thin," says she, "ye can lave the house, and be 

sure to take wid ye yer ' right; ' 
And if Michael and Norah think just as ye do, ye can all of 

ye lave to-night." 
So just for St. Patrick's glory we wint ; and, as sure as Mary 

Magee is me name. 
It's a house full of nagurs she's got now, which the same is 

a sin and a shame. 



102 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Bad luck to them all ! A body, I think, had need of a com- 
fortable glass ; 

It's a miserable time in Ameriky for a dacent Irish-born 
lass. 

If she sarves the saints, and is kind to her friends, then she 
loses her home and her pay. 

And there's thousands of innocent martyrs like me on ivery 
St. Patrick's Day. 



PAT'S CORRESPONDENCE. 

Whist now ! till I relate to you my — well, yer what now? 
Oh ! I hev it, me — no I heven't it thin. What is it? It's 
letter-writing any how — now what do ye call it? Ah ! ha ! 
now I hev it — correspondence, that's the wourd. 

You know I wrote a letter to Tim Flanagin : Tim wrote a 
letter to me. Tim lives in the ould country: I live in the 
new. That's the difference between Tiui and me. The dif- 
ference did I say? Well, now! that wourd makes me think 
of something I can't but tell till ye. It was the other day 
whin I was walking up Broad Street, I heard some one a- 
calling out " Pat ! " se3^s he. " What do ye want? " sed I. " I 
want till talk to ye," sed he. " Well, talk away, thin," sed I. 
" Come along here, why don't ye thin?" — "Where air ye 
that I may come ? " But jist thin I see a big red-nosed fel- 
low peaking from behint a lamp post. " Well, now," sed I 
to meself, " 1 don't know who thet fellow is at all at all. 
I'll go over any how and see what he wants o' the likes of 
me." So over I wint, <j,nd as I got within speaking distance 
he seys to me, seys he, " How air ye, Pat ? " — " What's thet 
to a mon 1 don't know ? " sed I. " Oh, well, Pat, me boy," 
sed he, " niver mind thet; I hev a skanumdrum for ye." 
" A what ? " said I. "A skanunulrum," sed he ; " I'm going to 
ask" — " Ask nothing," sed I ; "but give me thet — what 
do ye call it? — the first thing ye do." — "Yer not under- 
standing me," sed he; "I mean by thet a riddle." — *' Oh, 
ho ! a riddle is it ? Out wid it thin ; for it's many a wone I 
guessed in the ould country." — " Thin guess me this. What 
is the difference between yourself and a pig?" — *' Air ye 
joking? " sed I. " Not a bit of it, Pat; can ye tell?" Well 
jist thin one of the durty bastes passed us wid his — \_(jrunL- 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 103 

tng like a pig]. " Hear thet," sed I; "it's not in the voice 
any iiow." After scratching me head a while, I sed to him, 
" I'll give it up." — " Why, Pat, me boy, there is no difference 
at all." — " Ain't there ! Look-a-here, young man, thet may 
be what ye call a skanumdrum in Ameriky, but I give ye to 
understand thet in the ould country it would be a signal for 
the sudden dislocation of yer big red nose, and so it would." 
He didn't stop to hear it all, and it was well for him, or me 
name's not Pat. 

After looking at him a while, I turned once more on me 
way, end I hed not gone far before 1 heard another cry of 
" Pat ! " — " Oh, ho ! sed I to meself, " here is another otie of 
thim skanumdrum, I suppose. AVho air ye? where air ye? 
and what do ye want ? " sed I, all in a breath. " I'm here, 
and it is a-speaking to ye I want," sed a green-looking fel- 
low over the way. " Well," sed I to meself, " I'll go over 
and see what the blackguard wants wid me." So over I 
wdnt, and the very first thing was, " Pat, I hev a skanumdrum 
for ye." — "I thought so," sed I to meself i thin sed to him, 
"Well, what is it thin?" — "Tell me, Pat, the difference 
between yourself and a pig." — " Me boy, that is ould," sed 
1 in a whisper; thin I sed to him, "Repeat it." He did. 
" Look me in the eye," sed I. " I'm looking," sed he. " Now, 
ye want to know the difference between me and a pig ? " 
" That's it," sed he. I looked at him, thin at meself, thin at 
him agin ; thin I walked over to him, thin back agin, pacing- 
it off so — [walking four or five paces]. Thin looking right at 
him, I sed, " Do ye moind, I'm not good at guessing, but 
after pacing it, I would say the difference between me and a 
pig is about six feet.'" Well, if ever a mon looked beat he 
did ; and wid a good — \_siapping his sides arid crowing] I left 
him. 

But my dear friends what hes all this to do wid me corre- 
spondence ? " Nothing," seys you. Well, thin, to go back to 
it. Tim wrote, seys he, " Pat, your own living uncle is now 
dead ; and all he had is to be given to you and me, his only 
heirs, saving fourteen others. Come thin, Pat, and git your 
share." Well, I jist set down and wrote, " Tim, yer a fool. 
Don't bother yer head wid a few paltry pounds, but come at 
once to the best country in the wourld. Why, Tim, there is 
no hanging for stealing here ! Pertaties are only twenty-five 
cents a bushel, wid whiskey the same! And more than thet, 
Tim, ye git yer three dollars a day for doing nothing at all ; 



104 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

for all ye have to do is to make a three-cornered box, fill it 
wid bricks, carry it up a three-story building, and tjou ivill 
Jind a laon there, wid a trowel, thet will do all the wourk.'" 

W. M. GlFFIN. 



LITTLE PAT AND THE PARSON. 

He stands at the door of the church, peeping in, 

No troublesome beadle is near him ; 
The preacher is talking of sinners and sin, 

And little Pat trembles to hear him. 

A poor little fellow, alone and forlorn, 

Who never knew parent or duty ; 
His head is uncovered, his jacket is torn, 

And hunger has withered his beauty. 

The white-headed gentleman shut in the box. 
Seems growing more angry each minute ; 

He doubles his fist, and the cushion he knocks. 
As if anxious to know what is in it. 

He scolds at the people who sit in the pews, — 
Pat takes them for kings and princesses. 

(With his little bare feet, he delights in their shoes; 
In his rags, he feels proud of their dresses ! ) 

The parson exhorts them to think of their need, 

To turn from the world's dissipation. 
The naked to clothe, and the hungry to feed, — 

Pat listens with strong approbation ! 

And when the old clergyman walks down the aisle, 
Pat runs up to meet him right gladly, 

" Shure, give me my dinner ! " says he, with a smile, 
" And a jacket, — I want them quite badly." 

The kings and the princesses indignantly stare, 

The beadle gets word of the danger. 
And, shaking his silver-tipped stick in the air, 

Looks knives at the poor little stranger. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 105 

But Pat's not afraid, he is sparkling with joy, 

And cries, — who so willing to cry it V 
"You'll give me my dinner, — I'm such a poor boy: 

You said so, — now don't you deny it." 

The pompous old beadle may grumble and glare, 

And growl about robbers and arson ; 
But the boy who has faith in the sermon stands there, 

And smiles at the white-headed parson ! 

The king* and princesses may wonder and frown, 
And whisper " He wants better teaching ; " 

But the white-headed parson looks tenderly down 
On the boy who has faith in his preaching. 

He takes him away without question or blame. 

As eager as Patsy to press on, 
For he thinks a good dinner (and Pat thinks the same) 

Is the moral that lies in the lesson. 

And after long years, when Pat, handsomely drest, — 
A smart footman, — is asked to determine 

Of all earthly things what's the thing he likes best. 
He says, " Och, shure, the master's ould sermiu ! " 



PATRICK O'ROUKE AND THE FROGS. 

A COLD WATER STORY. 

St. Patrick did a vast deal of good in his day : he not 
only drove the snakes out of Ireland, but he also drove 
away the frogs, — at least I judge so from the fact that 
Patrick O'Rouke was unfamiliar with the voices of these 
noisy hydropaths. Pat had been visiting at the house of a 
friend, and he had, unfortunately, imbibed more whiskey than 
ordinary mortals can absorb with safety to their persons. 
On his return home the road was too narrow, and he per- 
formed wonderful feats in his endeavors to maintain the 
centre of gravity. Now he seemed to exert his best efforts 
to walk on both sides of the road at the same time ; then he 
would fall and feel upward for the ground ; then he would 



106 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

slowly pick himself up, and the ground would rise and hit 
him square in the face. By the time he reached the meadow- 
lands, located about half-way betwixt his home and the shanty 
of his friend, he was somewhat sobered by the ups and downs 
he had experienced on the way. 

Hearing strange voices, he stopped suddenly to ascertain, 
if possible, the purport of their language. Judge his aston- 
ishment when he heard his own name distinctly called, "Pat- 
rick O'Rouke! Patrick O'Rouke! " 

" Faith, that's my name, sure." 

"Patrick O'Rouke! Patrick — O'Rouke — Rouke — 
Rouke ! " 

" What do ye want o' the likes o' me ? " he inquired, 

" When did you come over — come over — come over? " 

" It is jest tree months ago to the niinutp, and a bad time 
■we had, sure, for we wur all say-sick, and tlie passage lasted 
six long wakes." 

" What will you do — do — do? What will you do — do 

— do?" 

" I have nothing to do at all at all ; but then I can do any 
thing : I can dig ; I can tind mason; and I can hould office — 
if I can git it." 

"You are drunk — you are drunk — drunk — drunk — 
drunk — drunk ' " 

" By my sowl, that's a lie ! " 

" You are drunk — dead drunk — drunk — drunk ! " 

" Repate that same if ye dare, and I will take me shillaly 
to ye ! " 

" You are drunk — dead drunk — drunk — drunk ! " 

" Jist come out here now and stip on the tail o' my coat, 
like a man ! " exclaimed Pat, in high dudgeon, pulling off his 
coat and trailing it upon the ground. 

" Strike him — strike him — strike — strike — strike ! " 

" Come on wid ye, and the divil take the hindmost; I am 
a broth of a boy — come on ! " 

" Knock him down — down — down ! " 

" 1 will take any one in the crowd ; and if Mike Mulligan 
was here we wud take all of yees at onct." 

" Kill him — kill him — kill him ! " 

" Och, nnnther ! sure ye wud not be after murdering me 

— I was not oncivil to ye. Go back to Pate Dogan's wid 
me now, and I will (rate ivei'y one of yees." 

" We don't drink rum — rum — rum." 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 107 

" And are ye all Father Mathew men ? " 

"We are cold-water men — watermen." 

" Take me advice now, and put a little whasky in the 
wather, darlings : it will kape the cowld out whin yees git 
wet, and so it will." 

" Moderation — moderation — moderation." 

"Yis, that's the talk. I wint to Pate Dogan's, down 
there in Brownville, and says I, ' Will ye stand trate ? ' 
Says he, ' Faith, and I will.' Says I, ' Fill up the glass ; ' 
and so he did. ' Fill it agin,' said I, and so he did; ' and 
agin,' said I, and so he did. ' Give me the bottle,' said I. 
* And I won't do that same,' said he. ' Give me the bottle,' 
said I, and he kipt on niver heedin' me at all at all, so I 
struck him wid me fist rite in his partatee thrap, and he 
kicked me out o' the house, and I took the hint that he 
didn't want me there, so 1 lift." 

" Blackguard and bully — blackguard and bully." 

" Ye wouldn't dare say that to my face in broad day, sure ; 
but ye are a set of futpads and highwaymin, hiding behind 
the rocks and the traas. Win I onct git to Watertown I will 
sind Father Fairbanks afther ye, and he will chuck ye into 
the pond as he did that thafe who stole the public money, 
and he will hould ye there until ye confess, or he will take 
yees to the perleese." 

" Come on, boys — chase him — chase him ! " 
■ " Faith, and I won't run, but I will jist walk rite along, for 
if any of me frinds shud find me here in sich company, at 
this time o' night, they wud think I was thrying for to stale 
somethin'. Tak me advice, boys, and go home, for it's goin* 
for to rain, and ye wall git wet to the skin if ye kape sich late 
hours." 

" Catch him — catch him — catch him ! " 

" Sure, ye'd bether not, for I haven't got a cint wid me, or 
I'd lave it in yer jackets. What's the use of staling all a 
man has whin he has jist nothing at all at all ? Bad luck to 
ye for bothering me so." 

About this time the frog concert was in full tune, and the 
hoarse chorus so alarmed Pat that he took to his heels, for 
he was now sober enough to run. Reaching his home, two 
miles distant from the scene of his encounter with the *' high- 
waymin " who held such a long parley with him, he gave a 
graphic history of his grievance. Soon it was noised about 
the neighborhood that Patrick O'liouke had been waylaid and 



108 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

abused by a drunken set of vagabonds, whose headquarters 
were near a meadow on the banks of tlie IJlack River ; but 
the fear of the citizens subsided when they discovered that 
Pat had been out on a bender, and could not distinguish a 
frog from a friend or an enemy. 

George W. Bungay. 



WIDOW MALONE. 

Did you hear of the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 
Who lived in the town of Athlone, 
Alone ! 
Oh, she melted the hearts 
Of the swains in them parts : 
So lovely the Widow Malone, 
Ohone ! 
So lovely the W^idow Malone. 



Of lovers she had a full score. 

Or more ; 
And fortunes they all had galore, 
In store. 
From minister down 
To the clerk of the Crown, 
All were courting the AVidow Malone, 

Ohone ! 
AH were courting the Widow Malone. 

But so modest was Mistress Malone, 
'Twas known 
That no one could see her alone, 
Ohone 1 
Let them ogle and sigh, 
They could ne'er catch her eye, 
So bashful the Widow Malone, 

Ohone ! 
So bashful the Widow Malone. 



IRISH DTALECT RECITATIONS. 109 

Till one Misther O'Brien, from Clare, 

(How quare ! 
It's little for blushing they care 

Down there) 
Put his arm round her waist, 
Gave ten kisses at laste, 
"Oh," says he, " you're my Molly Malone, 

My own ! 
Oh," says he, " you're my Molly Malone ! " 

And the widow they all thought so shy, 

My eye ! 
Ne'er thought of a simper or sigh, — 
For why ? 
But, " Lucius," says she, 
"Since you've now made so free, 
You may marry your Mary JNIalone, 

Ohone ! 
You may mary your Mary Malone." 

There's a moral contained in my song, 

Not wrong ; 
And one comfort, it's not very long. 
But strong, — 
If for widows you die. 
Learn to kiss, not to sigh ; 
For they're all like sweet Mistress IMalone, 

Ohone ! 
Oh, they're all like sweet Mistress JNLalone ! 

Charles Lever. 



THE BIRTH OF ST. PATRICK. 

On the eighth day of March it was, some people say, 
That Saint Pathrick at midnight he first saw the day; 
While others declare 'twas the ninth he was born. 
And 'twas all a mistake between midnight and morn, — 
For mistakes will occur in a hurry and shock, — 
And some blamed the babby, and some blamed the clock ; 
Till witii all their cross-questions sure no one could know 
If the child was too fast, or the clock was too slow. 
Now the first faction fight in owld Ireland,, they say, 
Was all on account of Saint Pathrick's birthday ! 



110 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Some fought for the eighth — for the ninth more would die; 
And who wouldn't see right, sure they blackened his eye ! 
At last both the factions so positive grew, 
That each kept a birthday ; so Pat then had two, 
Till Father ^Nlulcahy, who showed them their sins, 
Said "No one could have two birthdays, but a twins." 
Says he, " Boys, don't be fightin' for eight or for nine, 
Don't be always dividin', but sometimes combine. 
Combine eight with nine, and seventeen is the mark, 
So let that be his birthday." — " Amen," says the clerk, 
" If he wasn't a twins, sure our hist'ry will show 
That, at least, he's worth any two saints that we know^ ! " 
Then they all got blind dhrunk — which complated their 

bliss. 
And we kept up the practice from that day to this. 

Samuel Lover. 



MURPHY'S MYSTERY OF THE PORK- 
BARREL. 

" Murphy, what's the meaning of mystery? Faith, T was 
reading the paper, and it said 'twas a mystery how it was 
done." 

" Well," said Murphy, " Pat, Pll tache ye. Ye see, when 
I lived with my father, a little gossoon, they gave me a par- 
thy ; and me mother wint to market to buy somethin' for 
the parthy to ate, and among the lot of things, she bot a half- 
barrel of pork, ye see. Well, she put it down in the cellar, 
bless her sowl, for safe keeping, till the parthy come on, do 
ye see. Well, when the parthy come on, me mother sint me 
down to the cellar to get some of the pork, do ye see. Well, I 
wint down to the barrel and opened it, and fished about, but 
not a bit of pork could I find ; so I looked around the barrel 
to see where the pork was, and found a rat-hole in the bot- 
tom of the barrel, where the pork had all run out and left 
the brine standing, do ye see." 

" llould on. Murphy, wait a bit ! Now tell me how could 
all the pork get out ov the barrel, and lave the brine stand- 
ing?" 

" Well, Pat," said Murphy, " that's what I'd like to know 
myself, do you see : there's the mystery." 

Anon. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. Ill 

PADDT BLAKE'S ECHO. 

ONE OF THE WONDERS OF KILLARNEY. 

In the gap of Dunlo 

There's an echo, or so, 
And some of them eclioes is very surprisin' ; 

You'll think, in a stave 

Til at I mane to desaive. 
For a ballad's a thing you expect to find lies in. 

But visibly thrue 

In that hiil forninst you 
There's an echo as plain and safe as the banks, too ; 

But civilly spake, 
" How d'ye do, Paddy Blake ? " 
The echo politely says, " Very well, thank you ! " 

One day Teddy Keogh 

With Kate Connor did go 
To hear from the echo such wondherful talk, sir; 

But the echo, they say, 

Was conthrairy that day, 
Or perhaps Paddy Blake had gone for a walk, sir. 

So Ted says to Kate, 
" 'Tis too hard to be bate 
By that deaf and dumb baste of an echo, so lazy; 

But if we both shout 

At each other, no doubt 
We'll make up an echo between us, my daisy ! 

Now, Kitty," says Teddy, 
" To answer be ready." 
= Oh, very well, thank you ! " cried out Kitty, then, sir. 
" Would you like to wed, 
Kitty darlin' ? " says Ted. 
• Oh, very well, thank you 1 " says Kitty, again, sir. 
" D'ye like me ^ " says Teddy ; 
And Kitty, quite ready. 
Cried, " Very well, thank you ! " wfth laughter beguiling. 
Now won't you confess 
Teddy could not do less 
Than pay his respects to the lips that were smiling ? 



112 IRISH DIALECT RECITATWNS. 

Oh, dear Paddy Blake, 

May you never forsake 
Those hills that return us such echoes endearing ! 

And, girls, all translate 

The sweet echoes like Kate, 
No faithfulness doubting, no treachery fearing. 

And, boys, be you ready. 

Like frolicsome Teddy. 
Be earnest in loving, though given to jolcing; 

And thus when inclined. 

May all true lovers find 
Sweet echoes to answer from hearts they're invoking ! 

Samuel Lover. 



A COOK OF THE PERIOD. 

The looks of yer, ma'am, rather suits me; 

The wages ye offer 'ill do ; 
But thin 1 can't inter yer sarvice 

Without a condition or two. 
And now, to begin, is the kitchen 

Cononodgeous, with plenty of light, 
And fit, ye know, fur intertainin' 

Sech fri'nds as I'm like to invite ? 

And nixt, are yous reg'lar at male-times? 

Becase, 'taint convainyent, ye see, 
To wait, and if I behaves punkshul, 

It's no more than yous ought to be. 
And thin is your gurrels good-natured? 

The rayson I lift my last place, 
The French nuss was sich a high lady, 

I sint a dish-cloth at her face. 

And have yer the laste of objiction 

To min droppin' in whin they choose ? 
I'v got some enlivinin' fust cousins 

That frayquintly brings me the news. 
I must have thim trayted powlitely ; 

T give yer fair vvaniin', ma'am, now, 
If the airy gate be closed agin thim. 

You'll iSnd me commincin' a row. 



TRT^H DTALECT RE C FT AT TON 5. 113 

These matthers agrayed on between us, 

I'd try yer a wake, so 1 wild 
(She looks like the kind I can manage, 

A thin thing without any blud !) 
But mind, if I comes for a wake, ma'am, 

I comes for that time, and no liss ; 
And so, thin, purvidiu' ye'd want me, 

Jusht give me yer name and addriss. 



LARRY'S ON THE FORCE. 

Well, Katie, and is this yersilf ? And where was you this 

whoile ? 
And ain't ye dhrissed ? You are the wan to illusthrate the 

stoile ! 
But never moindthim matthers now — there's toime enough 

for thini ; 
And Larry — that's me b'y — I want to shpake to you av 

him. 

Sure, Larry bates thim all for luck ! — 'tis he will make his 

way, 
And be tshe proide and honnur to the sod beyant the say — 
We'l] soon be able — whist! I do be singin'till I'mhoorse, 
For iver since a month or more, my Larry's on the foorce ! 

There's not a proivate gintleman that boords in all the row 
Who houlds himsilf loike Larry does, or makes as foine a 

show : 
Thim eyes av his, the way they shoine — his coat and but- 

thons too — 
He bates thim kerrige-dhroivers that be on the avenue ! 

He shtips that proud and shtately-loike, you'd think he 

owned the town ; 
And houlds his shtick convanient to be tappin' some wan 

down. 
Aich blissed day I watch to see him comin' up the shtrate, 
For, by the greatest bit av luck, our house is on his bate. 



114 imSH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

The little b'ys is feared av him, for Larry's nioighty shtrict, 
And niauy's the litthle blagyard he's arristed, 1 expict; 
The beggyars gets acrass the shtrate — you ought to see 

thiin fly — 
And organ-groindhers scatthers whin they see him comin' by. 

I know that Larry's bound to roise ; he'll get a sergeant's 

post, 
And afther that a captaincy widhin a year at most ; 
And av he goes in politics he has the head to throive — 
I'll be an Aldherwoman, Kate, afore I'm thirty-foive I 

What's that again? Y'are jokin', surely — Katie! — is it 

thrue ? 
Last noight, you say, Tie — married? and Aileen O'Donahue? 
O, Larry ! c'u'd ye have the hairt — but let the spalpeen be : 
Av he demanes himsilf to her, he's nothing more to me. 

The ugly shcamp! I always said, just as I'm tellin' you, 

That Larry was the biggest fool av all I iver knew ; 

And many a toime I've tould mesilf — you see it now, av 

coorse — 
He'd niver come to anny good av he got on the foorce ! 

Irwin Russell. 



PAT AND THE FROGS. 

[Imitate.] 

The spring had come 

With its gentle rain ; 

And the frogs, from 

Their beds of mud, 

AVaked up again ; 

Tuned up their pipes 

Of various tones, 

From the shrill piccolos 

To the sturdy trombones. 

They were chanting in concert, 

With strains of great glee, 

AVheu Pat came along 

On a pretty big spree. 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 115 

No money had he 

The " craythur " to buy, 

And oh, he was feeling 

So terribly dry I 

So the only chance left 

For a drink, that he found, 

Was the water that flowed 

In the jolly frog's pond. 

He came to the brink 

With a " skip and a leap," 

When a tempting small voice 

Cried, "knee deep! knee deep!** 

♦'Thank you kindly," said Pat, 

" Ye're right well behavin' ; 

So I'll take aff me brogues. 

An' me feet I'll be lavin'." 

So he took off his boots, ■-■'^■ 

Threw them down on the ground, 

When a sepulchral tone 

Said, " You'll d\'-x-v-rown ! You'll dx-v-r-rown ! " 

" Howly Biddy ! " said he, 

" It's me narves ye'd by thryin' 1 

Y'"e're a murderin' set 

Of t-hieves at lyin' ! 

Me name's Paddy Flinn, 

O' the county o* Claif-yeur ! 

So kom out ivery wan 

An' I'll tak the scalp aff yerl 

If there's iver a wan of yees 

Has any spunk ! " — 

But the answer he got 

Was : " You're diT-Y-Y-runh ! dr-r-^-rMn^• / unk ! " 

« Drunk, am I ? Faith 

An' it's my way of t'inkin' 

If I'd live as yees do, 

I'd always be drinkin' ! 

Not wa-ther but whiskey 

I'd live in, be-gum ! — 

Will yees howld yer hush, iver? " — 

" jMore r-r-r-rwm / iSIore r-r-r-7'Mm / " 

Pat picked up a stone, 

Which he threw with his might, 

And the voices at once 

Were silenced outright. 



Il6 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 

So he put on his brogues, 
On his way cogitating, 
Their want of politeness 
And manners berating. 
Said he, " I'll go bail that 
There'd be no more bother, 
If whiskey they lived in, 
Instid of cowld wa-ther ! " 



R. M. T. 



PADDY'S COURTING. 

Biddy Machree was a gentlewoman, — at least, as gentle 
a woman as could be found anywhere. Biddy was young 
and decidedly good-looking. Biddy had a neat little cot- 
tage, with a good-sized potato-patch, and some fine pigs in 
the sty. No wonder, then, that all the young sparks in the 
neighborhood fell in love with, and fell out about, her. 

Amongst the young fellows who stood a good chance of 
winning the love and potato-patch of Biddy, was young 
Patrick O 'Conner. 

He was a smart, handsome young fellow, with bright, rov- 
ing eyes, and a saucy expression about the mouth that won 
the good-will of everybody. His patch of land joined Bitldy's, 
his pigs grunted in chorus to Biddy's, the smoke of his chim- 
ney always went in the direction of Biddy's, — when the wind 
blew that way, — and so he began to thhik he had a right to 
Biddy. 

As to Biddy herself, she often looked in the direction of 
Paddy's plot, and sighed to think of the waste of ground on 
which the low stone wall stood. 

One night she was sitting all alone knitting stockings, when 
all of a sudden the latch was lifted, and Paddy O'Conner 
"Entered. 

" Och, murther ! " exclaimed the frightened damsel, *' wher 
did ye spring from V " 

" From jest nowhere, me darlint," replied Pat, who was 
glad to find the charmer alone, — " from jest nowhere. I 
come to spake till ye on vary partic'lar bizness." 

" The ould 'ooman's fast asleep, so ye may jest spake what 
ye plaze." 

" Och, thin, Biddy ! " said Paddy, drawing liis stool close to 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 117 

hers, and putting his arm round her waist, — " Och, thin, it's 
yerself as I've come to spake about, an' iiothin' else at all, at 
all." 

" Ye can't say much about me, for sure." 

" Whew, Biddy darlint ! I drame of ye." 

" Och, Pat, you wouldn't be afther tellin' me your drames, 
would yer? " 

" What if I did, me jewel ? Dranies come true sometimes. 
Be jabers, an' don't I wish my drame would come true ! " 

"Do yer?" said Biddy, drawing her three-legged stool 
nearer to his. "Tell me what it was about, honey." 

" Oh, it was jest about yeself, me darlint! I dreamt I was 
going to church " — 

"Yes, Pat." 

" Yes, I dreamt T was going to church to be " — 

"Christened, Pat?" 

" Divil a bit was it christened; no, no, I was going to 
church to be " — 

" Buried ? " 

" Buried, i' faith ! not buried at all, at all. I dreamt I was 
going to church to be married." 

" JNlarried ! O Patrick ! it was only a drame, wasn't it ? " 

" Bad luck to it, yes ; it was only a drame." 

" O Paddy ! will it ever come true? " 

" Sure, and I'm draming it will." 

" An' who was the misthress, Pat? " 

" Who ? Be all that's wonderful, can't yer guess? " 

" Xorah McCarty ? " 

" AVhy, she squints ! " 

"Madge Mulligan?" 

" The timper of a she-wolf. No, me jewel, it was yerself." 

" O Pat ! " exclaimed the damsel, hiding her face in her 
apron, — "O Pat! I'm surprised at yer drame; for sure it 
was a strange drame." 

They sat in silence for some moments ; and Paddy, after 
waiting for her to uncover her face, ventured to pull down 
one corner of her apron and take a peep. The roguish 
twinkle in her eye encouraged him ; so, summoning up all 
his fortitude, he said, — 

" Will the drame come true, darlint ? " 

The maiden's cheek flushed a deeper crimson, and, lajing 
her hand on his arm, she replied, " Wheniver ye plaze, Pat." 

W. A. Eaton. 



118 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS, 



A BIT OF GOSSIP. 

I've just come from Mrs. Brady's, 

Who urged me to stay to tea, 
*' For I've got a wonderful story 

You really must hear," says she. 
And with that the strings of my bunnit 

I soon began to untie. 
*' I'm glad you. came in to-day," says she. 

" But I mustn't stay late," says I. 

" You remember Mary McGinn is, 

And the airs she put on," says she; 
"For the matter of that, no lady 

More stuck up with pride could be ; 
And I thought she would come to sorrow, 

With holding her head so high, 
And not a cent in her pocket," says she. 

" To be sure she would," says I. 

" They came from Ballysloughgannon," 

Says Mrs. Brady, says she ; 
" And it ain't for the likes of them to look 

With scorn on the likes o' me ; 
For them that has lain on feathers 

May be glad on straw to lie. 
And fuck don't last in this world," says she. 
" Indeed an' it don't," says I. 

" There's Terence," says Mrs. Brady, 

As she stirred her cup of tea, 
"There isn't a better-looking boy, 

Or a dacenter one," says she ; 
••And that he loved Mary McGinnis 

I'm not the one to deny. 
She was none too good for him," says she. 

" Of course she wasn't," says I. 

" It took me so of a sudden," 

Says ]\Irs. Brady, says she ; 
"I couldn't think it was true at all, 

But Mrs. O'fcshauglinessy 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 119 

Had seen it herself in the papers, 

So you know it could be no lie ; 
And Mary McGinnis — oh, don't she strut! " 

" More shame to her then," says L 

" An' must you go, Mrs. Doolan? " 

Says Mrs. Brady to me, 
As I drew my chair from the table, 

After drinking six cups of tea, 
"I haven't told you the story," 

Says she ; " now do sit by, 
For I know you're dying to hear it/' 

" But it's getting late," says I. 

*' And," says T, " the rest of the story 

It isn't worth while to repeat, 
And I wonder Mary McGinnis 

Can show her face in the street. 
And," says I, " it is well that Terence 

Conducted himself so shy ; 
He might have had to share the disgrace 

Of the shameless hussy,'" says I. 

** What's that?' says she in a minute, 

Sa3^s ]\h^. Brady, says she. 
" The wicked thing that you're hinting afc 

Is wonderful news to me." 
Says I, " You told it to me yourself." 

" I didn't,'' says she in reply. 
" Well, you'd better tell it over again," 

Says I, " Mrs. Brady," says I. 

** So I will," says she in a hurry, 

" For I see it is getting late. 
I told you INIary JMcGinnis 

Had heired such a big estate. 
That none in Ballysloughgannon 

Could carry their heads so high, 
And Terence is broken-hearted." 

" 1 shouldn't wonder," says I. 

Josephine Pollard. 



120 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



PADDY AND HIS PIG. 

In the town of Kilkenny lived Paddy O'Raun, 

A broth of a boy, though a true Irishman : 

He could reap, he could dig, o'er the boys he could plod, 

He could shoulder a musket, as well as a hod ; 

In faith, there was nothing but what Pat could do ; 

Both his work and his wages he could always get thro'. 

Pat's father, when living, was gentle and kind ; 

And when dying, he left Pat a fortune behind, — 

A hay-rake, a sickle, a hoe, and two spades, 

Some forks without handles, some knives without blades, 

A pig in the sty, and of platters a set. 

Besides all the money that Paddy could get, 

With this piece of advice, to be inwardly taken, 

That while he kept the pig, Pat would then save his bacon ; 

But if trouble came on him, whether little or big, 

Never to part with the favorite pig. 

Pat kept these last words as true as a law, — 

The pig lived in the cabin, and slept on clean straw : 

He'd ne'er part with the pig while to keep it was able. 

The grunter fed with him, underneath the same table; 

They shared both alike, through thicks and through thins, 

Pat ate all the potatoes, the pig had the skins ; 

They never had words, botheration, or strife, 

Soon as part with his pig he would part with his life. 

To save up his money, from his father he learnt it, 

Spending every rap before ever he earned it ; 

That brought poverty on him, — life's cruel curse. 

So he kept on improving, by still getting worse. 

Still, on keeping the pig, Pat Rann's mind was bent, 

Till the landlord kept bothering him for the rent. 

Saying, " Padd}'^ O'Kann, now do as you please, 

If you don't pay your rent, to-morrow I'll seize." 

AVhat was to be done ? Faitli ! Pat could not tell ; 

IMuch against his consent, sure, the pig he must sell. 

His father's words smote him, — he grieved at the thing; 

But he soon had the pig-hog's leg in a string. 

The hog proved pig-headed and mighty ill-bred ; 

For, faith, she would neither be driven nor led : 

She kicked up such i>rauks that she'd not done before, 

Aud Pat found that his sow was a terrible boar (bore). 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 121 

She first went at a gallop, then she was slow, 

Every step she took forwards, she backwards did go ; 

She would then give a jump, a grunt, and a squall, 

Capsized an old woman and her apple-stall. 

" Arrah ! you're off, thin, to market," Mike Fagan did say. 

"Hush!" cried Pat, "if she hears you, she'll not go that 

way." 
rJust as if she had heard every word that did drop, 
She set off at a gallop that Pat could not stop ; 
And, to add to poor Paddy's pleasures and joys. 
They were hooted and pelted by a whole trooj^ of boys. 
" Och ! she's going down the wrong street, now. Och ! " 

cried Pat, "I'm no dunce. 
She'll go up all manner of streets, faith, at once." 

AjSfONYMOUS. 



TEDDY MeGUIRE AND PADDY O'FLYNN. 

TEDDY TO PADDY. 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Are yez at it agin ? 
Drink-drinking away wid the lame and the lazy? 

Sure, it's small wit yez had, 

At yer soberest, lad ; 
So what can it be whin yer head has gone crazy 

Wid whiskey and gin ? 

Foolish Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn, 

See the pickle yer in ! 
Bare elbows and toes, dhirt and raggedness, Paddy. 

Saint Patrick would shame 

To be spakin' yer name ; 
Wouldn't own yez a son of ould Ireland, me laddy. 

But the divils would grin 

To see Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn, 
While yer spendin' for gin, 
Or whiskey, gossoon, what yer uadiu' for dinner, 



122 IRISn DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Yer mither half dead 
For praties and bread, 
Sits cryiii' her eyes out, ye graceless young sinner! 
Not worth a bent pin, 
Drunken Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn, 

Sich a wurrld as "we're in ! 
Topsy-turvey wid soitow, how can yez be makin* 

More trouble and care, 

More grafe and despair, 
More wapin' and wailin' and bitter heart-brakln*, 

More vileness and sin. 

Wicked Paddy O'Flynn? 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Aich tumbler of gin 
Is an ocean too dape for a sowl, — it betrays ye. 

Whin once yez go down, 

Ye're certain to drown. 
If yez float, the say-sarpeut is likely to saze ye ; 

And where are yez thin, 

Wretched Paddy O'Flynn? 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Stand up, and begin 
To look like a crature half-dacent and human ! 

Fath ! ril give yez me hand 

Wid a bit of me land; 
And I'll lind yez a shpade, and I'll kape the ould woman 

Till yer crops ye get in, 

Neighbor Paddy O'Flynn ! 

Och, Paddy O'Flynn ! 

There's a heaven to win. 
Hooray ! smash the glass ! shpill the shtufF, so defilin' 1 

How the divils will howl 

Whin they see yer poor sowl 
Makiu' tracks up the sky wid the angels all smilin' 

To welcome yez in, 

Happy Paddy O'Flynn 1 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 123 

PADDY TO TEDDY. 

Och, Teddy McGuire ! 

Me heart's batin' higher 
To be gratin' yez here on American sile. 

'Tis tin years, be dad, 

Since I saw yez, me lad, 
On that sorrowful day whin I left the Grane Isle. 

A friend ye had been 

To poor Paddy O'Flynn : 
Ye had loved him, and lifted him out of the mire ; 
And me mither died blessin' yez, Teddy McGuire. 

Och, Teddy McGuire ! 

I can spake like the squire ; 
But the ould tongue is best, when I mate an ould friend. 

Here's a watch in me vest, 

Like a birrd in its nest, — 
I've praties in plenty, and money to spend. 

Come home wid me, thin, 

And see Mistress O'Flynn ; 
And she'll trate yez to somethin' ye're sure to desire : 
It's a bountiful counthry, dear Teddy McGuire. 

Och, Teddy McGuire ! 

No nade to inquire 
If I've been at the whiskey-jug. Here is my hand, 

As dacent and clane 

As the hand of a quane. 
And sthrong at the grip. Not a man in the land 

Could brag of more muscle, 

Or bate in a tussle 
Wid Paddy O'Flynn ; and, troth, ye'll admire 
The good clothes I'm wearin' now, Teddy McGuire ! 

Och, Teddy McGuire ! 

If ye sthay in the fire. 
There's no help at all, but ye're sure to be roastin'. 

Lord love yez to-day 

That yez dragged me away, 
And cliated the divil in spite of his boastin'. 

Let him rage if he plaze ; 

ril not barter me aise. 
Nor burn up me soul for the thavish ould liar: 
I've done wid the whiskey-shops^ Teddj McGuire. 



124 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Look, Teddy McGuire ! 

There's a church wid a shpire, 
And beyant, a white house wid a terrace below ; 

Bay-wmdows complate, — 

Now, isn't it nate '? 
Wid roses all round it beginnin' to blow ; 

AVid a lawn in the sun 

Where the childer can run, 
An orchard behind it, a barn, and a byre, — 
And that is me residence, Teddy McGuire ! 

Och, Teddy McGuire, 

Make haste and come nigher ! 
There's me wife in the portico watching for me. 

A swate Yankee girl, 

Wid a heart like a pearl, 
And a will of her own, as ye're likely to see. 

Her father was mad 

Whin 1 courted her, lad : 
He'd give her no money, he swore in his ire ; 
But she loved me, and married me, Teddy McGuire. 

Thin, Teddy INIcGuire, 

I was workin' for hire, 
AVid a beautiful farm and a dairy to tend ; 

But the ould man relinted, 

And left us, continted, 
A snug little fortung to kape us, me friend. 

See the childer come oat 

AYid a rush and a shout, — 
The swate little cratures ! — to welcome their sire 
Wid laughter and kisses, dear Teddy McGuirs. 

Och, Teddy McGuire ! 

Me blood is on fire. 
Me heart it is batin' like waves of the say. 

So great is me bliss 

To be spakin' like this. 
And bringin' yez home to me darlin's this day, 

Sure, I think whin yez die. 

All the angels will cry, — 
" Here's the man that saved Paddy O'Flynn inountin' higher 
Make room for the swate soul of Teddy McGuire." 

Amanda T. Jones. 



IRISH DIALECT recitations: 125 



PAUDEEN O'RAFFERTY'S SAY- VOYAGE. 

Sure now, ladies and gintlemen, if ye plase, I'll relate the 
great mistake I made when I came hare to Naples — stop ! 
aisy, Paudeen, and don't decaive the ladies and gintlemen; 
for, bedad ! I didn't come at all, — they brought me in a 
ship, a. grate big ship, with two big sticks standing out of it. 
Masts they call thim, bad luck to it and the day I saw it ! 
If I had been an ignorant fellow, and didn't know joggraphy 
and the likes, I'd be safe enough at home now, so I would, in 
my own cellar on the Coal-Quay in Dublin. But I must be 
making a man of myself, showing my learnin', me knowl- 
edge of similitude and the likes. You see, I wint over to 
England on a bit of an agricultural speculation — hay-makin' 
and harvist-rapin' — and, the saison bein' good, I realized a 
fortune, so I did, — a matter of thirty shillings or so.. 

So, says I to myself, says I, " Now I have got an indipin- 
dent competence, I'll go back to Ireland; I'll buy it out, and 
make meself imperor of it." So I axed one of the boys 
which was my nearest way to Bristol to go be the say. So, 
says one of thim (be the same token he was a cousin of mine 
— one Terry O'Rafterty — as dacint a boy as you could wish 
to meet, and as handy with a shillaly. Why, I've seen him 
clear a tint at Donnybrook fair in less than two minutes, 
with nivir a won to help except his bit of a stick; and you 
know that's no aisy job). 

" Weil,'' says Terry to me, says he, " go down to the quay," 
says he, *' and you'll find out all about it while a cat'd be 
lickin' her ear." 

Well, I wint to a man that was standin' be the dure of a 
public-house. It was the sign of — the sign — "What the 
plague is this the sign was? — you see, I like to be sarcum- 
spectius in me joggraphy. It was the sign of the blind cow 
kicking the dead man's eyes out, or the dead man's cow kick- 
ing the blind — no — well, it was something that way, any- 
how. 

So says I to the man, " Sir," says I, " I want a ship." 

" There you are," says he. 

" AVhere ? " sa^^s T. 

" There," says he. 

" Thank you," says I. "Which of thim's for Ireland? " 

"Oh ! you're an ould counti-yman," says he. 



126 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" How did you find that out ? " says I. 

" I know it," says he. 

" Who tould you? " says I. 

" No matther," says he. *' Come," says he. 

"I will," says I. 

Well, we wint in and we had half a pint of whiskey. Oh, 
bedad ! it'd have done your heart good to see the bade rise 
on the top of it. Maybe my heart didn't warm to him, and 
his to me — ow, murther ! 

" Erin go bragh ! " says he. 

" Ceadh mille failthe ! " says I. 

And there we wor like two sons of an Irish king in less 
than a minute. 

Thin we got to discoorsing about Dublin and Naples, and 
other furrin parts that we wor acquainted with ; and he 
began talking about how like the Bay of Naples was to the 
Bay of Dublin, — for, you see, he was an ould soger, d'ye 
mind ? an' thim old sogers are always mighty 'cute chaps. 
He was a grate big chap that was off in the wars among the 
Frinch and Spaniards and the Rushers and other barbarians. 
So we got talking of similitude an' joggraphy an' the likes, 
an' mixin' Naples an' wather and Dublin an' whiskey ; and, 
be me sowl, purty punch we made of it. 

I was in the middle o' me glory, whin in walks the cap- 
tain o' the ship. 

" Any one here to go aboord ? " says he. 

" Here I am," says I. 

And be the same token, me head was quite soft with the 
whiskey, and talkin' about Dublin an' Naples, an' Naples an' 
whiskey, and wather an' Dublin, Dublin an' Naples, Naples 
an' Dublin, — bad 'cess to me! but I said the one place 
instead of the other when they axed me where I was going, 
d'ye mind ? 

Well, they brought me aboord the ship as dhrunk as a lord, 
and threw me down in the cellar, — the hould, they called it; 
and the divil's own hould it was, — wid sacks, pigs, praties, 
an' other passengers, an' there they left me in laveudher, like 
Paddy Ward's pig. 

I fell asleep the first week. AVhin T woke up didn't I 
heave ahead in me sthomatics enough to make me backbone 
and me ribs strike fire? 

" Arrah ! " says I to mesclf, says I, "are they ever going 
to take me home ? " 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 127 

Just thin I h'ard a voice sing out, — 

" There's the bay." 

That was enough for me. I scrambled up-stairs till I got 
on the roof — the deck, they call it — as fast as my legs 
could carry me. 

" Land ho ! " says one of the chaps, 

" Where? " says I. 

" There it is," says he. 

" For the love of glory, show me where," says I. 

" There, over the cat's-head," says he. 

I looked around, but the niver the cat's head or dog's tail 
aither I could see. The blaggard stared at me as if I was a 
banshee or a fairy. I gev another look, and there was tlie 
bay, sure enough, afore me. 

" Arrah, good luck to you!" said I, "but you warm the 
cockles of me heart. But what's come over the Hill of 
Howth ? " says I. " It used to be a civil, paiceable soort of 
a mountain, but now it's splutthering an' smokin' away like 
a grate big lime-kiln. Sure the boys must have lit a big 
bone-fire on top of it to welcome me." 

With that, a vagabone that was listenin' to me cries out, 
in a horse-laugh, — 

" Hill of Howth ! " says he. " You're a Grecian — that's 
not the Hill of Howth." 

" Not the Hill of Howth ? " says I. 

" No," says he ; " that's Mount Vesuvius." 

" Aisy, aisy," says I. "Isn't Mount Yesulpherous in 
Italy?" 

" Yis," says he. 

" An' isn't Italy in France ? " says I. 

" Of coorse," says he. 

" An' isn't France in Gibberalther ? " says I. 

*' To be sure," says he. 

" An' isn't Gibberalther in Russia?" says I. 

" Maybe so," says he, "but we're in Italy, anyhow. This 
is the Bay of Naples, and that is Mount Vesuvius." 

" Are you sure ? " says I. 

"I am," saj^s he. 

And, be me sowl, it was thrue for him. The ship made a 
big hlundher in takin' me to Naples whin I wanted to go to 
Dublin, d'ye mind. 



128 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



IRISH ASTRONOMY. 

A veritalsle myth, touching the constellation of O'Ryan, 
ignorantly and falsely spelled Orion. 

O'Ryan was a man of might 

Whin Ireland was a nation ; 
But poachin' was his heart's delight, 

And constant occupation. 
He had an ould militia gun, 

And sartin sure his aim was : 
He gave the keepers many a run, 

And wouldn't mind the oame laws. 



St. Path rick wanst was passin' by 

O'Ryan's little hoiddin', 
And as the saint felt wake and dhry, 

He thought he'd enther bould in. 
*' O'Ryan," says the saint, "avick! 

To praich at Thurles I'm goin' ; 
So let me have a rasher, quick. 

And a dhrop of Innishowen." 

" No rasher will T cook for yon 

While betther is to spare, sir; 
But here's a jug of mountain dew. 

And there's a rattlin' hare, sir." 
St. Pathrick he looked mighty sweet, 

And says he, " Good luck attind you ! 
And when you're in your windin'-sheet, 

It's up to heaven I'll sind you." 

O'Ryan gave his pipe a whiff — 

" Them tidin's is thrans]iortin', 
But may I ax your saintship if 

There's any kind of sportin' ? " 
St. Pathrick said, " A Li(jn's tliere. 

Two Bears, a Bull, and Cancer" — 
"Bedad," says IMick, " th^' huutin's rare! 

St. Pathrick, I'm your man, .sir!" 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 129 

So, to conclude my song aright, 

For fear I'd tire your patience, 
You'll see O'Ryan any night 

Amid the constellations. 
And Venus follows in his track, 

Till Mars grows jealous raally; 
But, faith, he fears the Irish knack 

Of handling his shillaly. 

Chakles G. Halpine. 



PADDY MeGRATH'S INTRODUCTION TO 
MR. BRUIN. 

An Irish Story. 

Not long since, 1 was walkin' with Jimmy Butler through 
a thick wood on me w^ay to Judy O'Flinn's, to pay me bist 
addrissis to her, whin Jimmy very suddintly cried out, 
*' Be jabersi but there's Mr. Bruin ! " and with that he runs 
off like a shot, lavin' me alone jist forniust the ould giu- 
tleman. 

" Mr. Bruin, are ye ? " says I. " How do you do, Mr. 
Bruin? Happy to know yer worship, and hope yer honor's 
well. Happy o' yer acquaintance," says I. A grunt was 
the only answer I resaved. 

"Och, sure!" thinks I, "yer a quare ould chap at iny 
rate; " and thin I axed him how Mrs. Bruin and all the 
young spalpeen Bruins prospered. He only gev me another 
grunt. " Bad luck to yer eddication ! " says I. *' Where 
did ye hev yer bringin' up? Me name's Paddy McGrath, 
of Tipperary County, ould Ireland, at yer sarvice," says I 
agin, thinkin' to hev some conversation ^A'id him. He only 
showed me his big grinders, and gev me another grunt, bi'.t 
he still stood lookin' at me. " Bedad ! but he's niver been 
taught his letthers, and cannot understhand me, or his eyes 
must be mighty wake and bad. The top o' the mornin' to 
yez ! Do yez always wear yer coat with the wool on tlie 
outside V " says I agin. 

This sanied to touch a tinder pint wid him, and he kem 
towards me. Iloldin' out me hand, I wint to mate him. 



130 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

" Excuse the complimint," says I, "but you've a iniglity 
oogly moog, so ye hev." 

He grinned mighty plazed like, and held out his arrums 
to embrace me. Jist as I kem widin rache of his long 
arrums, he gev me a cuff aside me hid, ^vhich sint me flyin'. 
jNIe sinsis lift me mighty quick afther he sthruck me ; and 
whin they kem back, I found mesel' a-roUin' down a shtape 
hill, wid no chance to sthop. Prisintly, howiver, I sthruck 
a big stoomp, and suddintly shtopped. Whin I got on me 
fate agin, 1 saw Mr. Bruin corain' afther me on his hands 
and knase, and grinnin' as much as to say, " I beg yer 
pardin, but I didn't mane to tip yez so hard." 

"Och, I furgive yez," saj's I: "come to me arrums, Mr. 
Bruin. Paddy McGrath is not the filler to hould a groodge 
agin a frind. Yer as welcome to me embrace as me own 
Judy." This samed to filaze the ould gint mightily, for he 
shtood on his fate, and agin held out his arrums : I rushed 
to his embrace widout another word. 

" Och, murdher ! nuu'dher ! " I scramed ; " yer a practised 
hugger, ye are ! ye've been in the business afore ! How I 
pity Mrs. Bruin if ye sarve her this way often ! Och, 
murdher! " I cried agin ; " I don't like such tight squazin' 
I'll be satisfied wid the little ye've gev me if ye'U loosen yer 
hould, and gev me a rist." 

He gev me a harder squaze than iver, and opened his big, 
oogly jaws, and tried to bite me nose off. 

"Bedad! are ye a haythen cannibal," saj^s I, "that ye'd 
take a filler's hid off to show yer love for him ? " 

He gev me another hug, and fastened his big taath onto 
me lift shouhler. " Bad cess to ye ! " says I, " but yer afther 
makin' too fra wid me on short acquaintince ; but I'll be 
aven wid yez; " so sayin', I twisted me arrum from his grasp, 
and, thrustin' me shillaly into liis mouth, gev it a twist with 
sucli mighty force that I broke his under jaw. 

The ould gint samed to think he had been too lovin' wid 
me; so givin' a grunt, he let go me shoulder, takin' a pound 
of me tuider flish wid him, which he ate with a big relish. 

"Bedad, Paddy! if yez don't outdo yer new friend, lie'll 
lave but little of yez for yer Judy," thinks I; and widout 
more ado I gvv him a blow between his eyes. He gev a 
quick jerk buck, and I si)rang from his embrace — but, och! 
deary me ! he took the whole of me fine coat, weskit, and 
shirt but the shlaves, and started off wid 'cm. " Och ! yo 



IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 131 

thavin', murdlierin' nager," says I, " bring back me close, or 
I can't pay me addrissis to me Judy darlint." 

He niver paid me a bit o' notice, but rooshed off. 1 
shtarted afther the haythenish baste. 

He climbed up a big tra mighty quick, takin' me close 
wid him. I axed him, very perlite like, to throw down me 
wearin' apparel ; but he only blinked his bloody eyes at me. 

I was jist goin' to throw me shillaly at him, when I heard 
a gun go off; and Mr. Bruin gev a tei'rible squail, dhropped 
me close, and kera toomblin' to the ground. I looked 
around in astonishment, and saw Jimmy Butler and siveral 
others comin' down the hill towards me. 

Whin Jimmy saw me alive, he cried like a spalpeen, and 
rushed into me arrums. "When he let me go, I axed him 
what he mint by shootin' Mr. Bruin in that way. He told 
me he was a bear and would hev kilt me. " A bear ! did 
ye sayV" says I: "why didn't yez tell me afore, so that I 
could hev kipt ye company in yer runnin' away from him? 
A bear! " says I agin, beginnin' to trimble for fear the ould 
gint might not be quite dead: "give him another shot, 
Jimmy, to be sure ye've kilt him intirely." 

He was dead sure enough, and we lift him alone quite 
gory. 

Jimmy got me some new close, and we wint home. 

Whin I told Judy of the squazin' I got, she blushed, and 
put her arrums around me nick, and gev me so soft a squaze, 
that for a time I forgot me introduction to Mr. Bruin. 



LARRIE O'DEE. 



Now, the Widow McGee 

And Larrie O'Dee 

Had two little cottages out on the green, 

With just enough room for two pig- pens between. 

The widow was j^oung, and the widow was fair, 

With the brightest of eyes, and the brownest of hair : 

And it frequently chanced, when she came in the morn 

With the swill for her pig, Larrie came with the corn ; 

And some of the ears that he tossed from his hand, 

In the pen of the widow were certain to land. 



132 IRISH DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

One morning said he, 
" Och ! Misthress McGee, 

It's a waste of good lumber, this runnin' two rigs, 
Wid a fancy partition between our two pigs ! " 
" Indade, sure it is ! " answered Widow McGee, 
With the sweetest of smiles upon Larrie O'Dee. 
" And thin it looks kind o' hard-hearted and mane 
Kapin' two frindly pigs so exsadingly near 
That whine ver one grunts, thin the other can hear, 
And yit keep a croel partition betwane." 

"■ Shwate Widow McGee ! " 

Answered Larrie O'Dee, 

*' If ye fale in your heart we are mane to the pigs, 

Ain't we mane to ourselves to be running two rigs ? 

Och! It made my heart ache when I paped through the 

cracks 
Of me shanty, lasht ]\larch, at yez shwingin' yer axe, 
An' a-bobbin' yer head, an' a-shtompin' yer fate, 
Wid yer purty white hands jusht as red as a bate, 
A-sphlittin' yer kindlin'-wood out in the shtorm. 
Whin one little shtove it would kape us both warm ! " 

" Now, piggy," said she, 

" Larrie's courtin' me, 

Wid his delicate, tinder allusions to you ; 

§o now yez musht tell me jusht what I must do. 

For, if I'm to say yes, shtir the shwill wid yer shnoufc, 

But if I'm to say no, yez musht kape yer nose out. 

"Now, Larrie, for shame ! to be bribin' a pig 

Sy a-tossin' a handful of corn in its shwig ! " 

'' Me darling, the piggy says yes," answered he ; 

And that was the courtship of Larrie O'Dee. 

W. W. Fink. 



IRISH COQUETRY. 

Says Patrick to Biddy, " Good-mornin', me dear I 
It's a bit av a sacrit I've got for yer ear : 
It's yoursel' that is lukin' so charmin' the day, 
That the heart in me breast is fast slippin* away." 
" 'Tis you that kin flatther," Miss Biddy replies, 
And throws him a glance from her merry blue eyes. 



IRISn DTALECT RECITATIONS. 133 

" Arrah, thin," cries Patrick, " 'tis thinkin' av you 
That's makin' me heart-sick, nie darlint, that's thnie! 
Shure I've waited a long while to tell ye this same, 
And Biddy Maloney will be such a foine name ! " 
Cries Biddy, " Have done wid yer talkin', I pray ; 
Shure me heart's not me own for this many a day ! 

" I gave it away to a good-lookin' boy, 

Who thinks there is no one like Biddy Malloy ; 

So don't bother me, Pat ; jist be aisy," says she. 

" Indade, if ye'll let me, I will that ! " says he. 

It's a bit of a flirt that ye are, on the sly : 

I'll not trouble ye more, but I'll bid ye good-by." 

" Arrah, Patrick ! '* cries Biddy, " an' where are ye goin' ? 

Shure it isn't the best of good manners ye're showin' 

To lave me so suddint! " — " Och, Biddy," says Pat, 

" You have knocked the cock-feathers jist out av me hat." 

" Come back, Pat ! " says she. " What fur, thin ? " says he. 

" Bekase I meant you all the time, sir ! " says she. 



MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER. 

BOARDS 50 CENTS PAPER 30 CENTS. 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Hans Breitmann's Party . . . Charles G. Leland .... 5 

The Deutsch Maud Muller . . Carl Pretzel 6 

The Dutchman's Serenade 7 

Dyin' Vords of Isaac .... Anon 9 

Lookout Mountain, 1863 — Beu- 

telsbach, 1880 Geoi^fje L. Call in .... 10 

Der Shoemaker's Poy 12 

Der Drummer Charles F. Adams .... 13 

The Yankee and the Dutchman's 

Dog 14 

Setting a Hen 16 

"What's the Matter with that 

Nose?" Our Fat Contributor ... 17 

Keepin' the De'il oot .... Mrs. Findley Braden ... 19 

The Puzzled Census-Taker . . Jolin G. Saxe 23 

Dutch Security 23 

The Frenchman and the Rats 24 

Heinz von Stein Charles G. Leland, from the 

German 26 

The Solemn Book-Agent . . . Detroit Free Press .... 27 

The Mother-in-Law Charles Fallen Adams . . 28 

Schneider's Tomatoes .... Charles F. Adams .... 29 

Dutch Humor 30 

Squire Houston's Marriage Cere- 
mony 31 

Dot Delephone 31 

The United Order of Half-Shells 33 

Why no Scotchmen go to Heaven 35 

Yawcob Strauss C. F. Adams 36 

Leedle Yawcob Strauss — what 

he says Arthur Dakin 37 

Isaac Rosenthal on the Chinese 

Question Scribner's Monthly ... 38 

" Der Dog und der Lobster " . . Saul Sertreio 39 

** Der Wreck of der Hezberus" 41 

Signs and Omens 43 

A Dutchman's Answer 44 

The Vay Rube Koffenstein sells 45 

A Dutch Recruiting Officer 46 

Dot Baby off Mine 47 

Dot Leetle Tog under der Vagou 49 

Schnitzerl's Velocipede . . . Hans Breitmann .... 59 

The Latest Barbario Frietchiu il 



4 MEDLEY DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

PAGE 

Mr. Hoffenstein's Bugle 52 

Fritz aiul his Betsy I'all out . . Georrje M. Warren .... 54 
Cut, Cut Behind ...... Charles B'ollen Adunis . . 57 

Tickled all Oafer 58 

An Error o' Judgment 59 

Sockery Kadahcut's Kat , 61 

I vash so Glad I vash Here ! (53 

Dot Silly Leedle Raskel .64: 

A Jew's Trouble Hurwood 65 

Der Mule shtood on der Steatn- 

boad Deck Anon 06 

Teaching him the Business 67 

Der Good-lookin Shnow 69 

How Jake Schneider went Blind 71 

The Dutchman and the Raven 72 

The Dutchman who gave Mrs. 

Scudder the Small-Pox 74 

Ellen McJones Aberdeen . . . W. S. Gilbert TG 

A Dutch Sermon 78 

Shacob's Lament 79 

Mr. Schmidt's Mistake .... Charles F. Adams .... 81 
John and Tibbie Davison's Dis- 
pute Robert Leighlon .... .82 

Fritz und I Charles F. Adams .... 84 

A Tussle with Immigrants . . Philip Doiujlass S6 

A Doketor's Drubbles .... Georcfe M. Warren . . . 86 

Charlie Machree William J. Hoppin .... 90 

A Dutchman's Dolly Varden . . Anon 91 

The Frenchmen and the Flea- 
Powder 92 

The Frenchman and the Slieej)'s 

Trotters 94 

I vant to Fly , 96 

The P^renchman's Mistake 98 

"TwoTollar?" Detroit Free Press. . , .100 

A Frenchman on Macbeth . . Anon 101 

Like Mother used to Make . . James Whitcomb Riley, in 

New-York Mercury . . . 101 

John Chinaman's Protest 102 

The Whistler 104 

Mother's Doughnuts Charles Follen Adams . . 105 

Over the Left W. C Doniin 106 

A Jollv Fat Friar 107 

The Enoch of Calaveras . . . F. Bret Harte 107 

Curly-Head ........ B. S. Brooks 109 

Warning to Woman Ill 

An Exciting Contest 112 

A Laughing Philosopher 114 

In der Sh weed Long Ago . . . Oof ty Goof t 117 

Dot Stup|X)rn P(3ny Harry Woodson 118 

SiKuipeudyke opening Oysters . iStardey Ilaiitl'y .... 119 
To a Friend studying German . Charles Godfrey Leland . . 122 

Tammy's Prize 124 

The Scotchman at the Play 128 

An Irish Love-Letter .... Goo. M. Baker 133 



NEGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS. 

Edited by GEORGE M. BAKER. 

BOARDS 50 CENTS PAJPEIt 30 CENTS. 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

De 'Sperience of de Reb'rend Quako 

Strong 5 

Tobe's Monument Elizabeth Kilham . . 7 

Greatest Walk on Record 14 

The New Dixie 15 

A Short Sermon 16 

The " Ole Marster's " Christmas . . Atlanta Constitution . 18 

A Sermon for the Sisters Irwin Bussell ... 19 

The Learned Negro 20 

Art Matters in Indiana 21 

Virginny S. JS^. Cook .... 24 

Uncle Reuben's Baptism 26 

How Persimmons Took Car' ob der 

Baby Lizzie W. Champney . 29 

** Business " in Mississippi 33 

The Flood and the Ark 34 

Brudder Johnson on " 'Leetricity " 38 

Reviving de Sinners 39 

Daddy Worthless Lizzie W. Champney . 41 

Uncle Remus' Revival Hymn 43 

A New Version of the Parable of the 

Virgins . 44 

Uncle Mellick Dines with His Master 45 

No Color Line in Heaven 47 

Goin' to Eliza's T. N. Cook .... 48 

Counting Eggs Texas Siftinr/s ... 49 

The Housetop Saint . Mrs. J. D. Chaplin . 51 

Casablanca (Colored) 56 

A Modern Sermon 57 

Plantation Proverbs J. Russell Fisher . . 60 

A Colored Debating Society 61 

The Wonderful Tar-baby Story . . Harris 63 

Blind Ned Inoin Russell . . . (j4 

On the Shores of Tennessee . . . . E. L. Beers , . . . 6(i 

Suckers on de Corn 69 

A Colored Sermon 70 

A Blessing on the Dance 73 

Brer Rabbit and the Butter .... Ilarris 74 

3 



NEGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS. 



" Tread water Jim " '' Old Si" 77 

My Little Ned is Dead Modern Argo . . . 79 

The Ship of Faith 80 

The Mississippi Miracle Irwin Russell ... 81 

De Pint wid Ole Pete 83 

He wasn't Ready 84 

Kyarlina Jim 85 

Old Daddy Turner 8(3 

The Lime-Kiln Cluh M. Quad «8 

Nebuchadnezzar i)l 

Dem Codicils l"2 

Uncle Ned's Defence 93 

Sambo's Dilemma 94 

The First Banjo 95 

Brother Gardner on Liars 97 

The Cotton-field Hand 98 

Old Sambo Puzzled 99 

Uncle Pete and Marse George 100 

Petah 103 

Meriky's Conversion 104 

Chicken on the Brain , 107 

♦' Whar's de Kerridge ? " 108 

Go-Morrow, or Lot's Wife Ill 

Darkej^'s Counsel to the Newly Mar- 
ried Edmund Kirke . . . 113 

Bashful 114 

Brother Anderson's Sermon .... Thomas K. Beecher . 115 

Uncle Dan'l's Prayer Mark Twain .... 118 

The Darkey Bootblack 121 

Miss M'lindy's Courtship Detroit Free Press . .124 

George Washington 120 

A Fruitful Discourse 127 



THE READINf^ CLUB AND ITANrY FTrAIIT:!:. Being Seiec 
tions in Proee and Poetry, Serious, Humorous, Pattietic, Patriotic, and 
Dramatic, for Readings and Recitations. Edited by George M. Baker. 
Paper cover, fifteen cents each imrt. 

CONTENTS OF READING-CLUB NO. 1. 



At the Soldiers' Graves. 

Battle-Hymn. 

'•Boofer Lady," The. 

Bricklayers, The. 

Bumpkin's Courtship. The. 

Charles Sumner. 

" Curfew must not ring To-night." 

Closet Scene, The. (" Hamlet.") 

Defiance of Harold the Dauntless. 

Der Drummer. 

Deutsch Maud Muller, The. 

Doorstep, The. 

Factory -girl's Diary, The. 

Parmer Bent's Sheep-washing. 

Godiva. 

" Good and Better." 

Happiest Couple, The. (From the 

" School for Scandal.") 
Happy Life, The. 
Hans Breitmann's Party. 
Hour of Prayer, The. ' 
How Terry saved his Bacon. 
How He saved St. Michael's. 
In the Tunnel. 

Jakie on Watermelon-pickle. 
Jester's Sermon, The. 
" Jones." 



Mahmoud. 

Mistletoe-Bough, The. 

Mr. Caudle and his Second Wife. 

Mr. O'Gallagher's Three Roads to 

Learning. 
Nobody There. 
Old Age. 

Old Farmer Gray gets Photographed. 
Old Methodist's Testimony, The. 
Overthrow of Belshazzar. 
Puzzled Census-Taker, The. 
Popping the Question. 
Red Jacket, The. 
Rob Roy MacGregor. 
Samson. 

Senator's Pledge, The. 
Showman's Courtship, The. 
Squire's Story, The. 
Story of the Bad Little Boy whe 

didn't come to Grief, The. 
Story of the Faithful Soul, The. 
Stranger in the pew, A. 
Tauler. 

Voices at the Throne, The. 
Whistler, The. 
Yankee and the Dutchman's Dog, 

The. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 2. 



AcJdress of Spottycus. 

B*jy Atlas. 

Baty's Soliloquy, A. 

Beuuty of Youth, The. 

Biddy's Troubles. 

Bobolink, The. 

Broken Pitcher, The. 

By the Alma River. 

Calling a Boy in the Morning. 

Cooking and Courting. 

Curing a Cold. 

Double Sacrifice, The. 

Farm-yard Song. 

Portune-IIunter, The. 

Goin' Home To-day. 

Harry and I. 

I 1 the Bottom Drawer. 

I list Hide, The. 

Lcaiiiea Xegio, The. 

Little Puzzler, The. 

Man with a Cold in his Head, The. 

Merchant of Venice, Trial Scene. 

Modest ('ousin, The. 

MLlUtia General, A. 

••fr~'— r n^v God. to Thee." 



Old Ways and the New, The. 

Opening of the Piano, The. 

Our Visitor, and What He came for. 

Over the River. 

Paddock Elms, The. 

Pickwickians on Ice, The. 

Picture, A, 

Press On. 

I'ossession. 

Quaker Meeting, The. 

Queen Mab. 

Rescue, The. 

Shadow on the Wall, The. 

Short Sermon, A. 

Sisters, The. 

Sunday Morning. 

There i.^ no T")eath. 

Tobe's Monument. 

Toothache. 

Tragical Tale of the Tropics, A. 

"l-raveller's Evening Song, A. 

Two Anchors, The. 

Two Irish Idyls. 

What's the Matter with that NOOT? 

Workers and Thinkers. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 3. 



Appeal in Behalf of American Lib- 

erty. 
Ambition. 
Auction Mad. 

Aurelia's Unfortunate Young Man. 
Ballad of the Oysterman, The. 
Bob Cratchit's Christmas-Dinner. 
Bone and Sinew and Brain. 
Bunker Hill. 
Burial of the Dane, The. 
Church of the Best Licks, The. 
Countess and the Serf, The. 
Deck-Hand and the Mule, The. 
Evils of Ignorance, The. 
First Snow-fall, The. 
Flower-mission, Junior, The. 
For Love. 
Fra Giacomo. 
How Persimmons took Cah ob der 

Baby. 
Jouesville Singin' Quire, The. 
Last Tilt, The. 
Lay of Real Life, A. 
Law of Kindness, The. 
Losses. 
Mad Luce. 
Minute-men of '75, Tlie. 



Mosquitoes. 

Mr. Stiver's Horse. 

Ode. 

Old Fogy Man, The. 

Pat and the Oysters. 

Recantation of Galileo, The. 

Roast Pig. A Bit of Lamb. 

Roman Soldier, The. 

Riding down. 

Schneider's Tomatoes. 

School of Reform, Scenes from tke. 

Similia Similibus. 

Singer, The. 

Solemn Book-Agent, The. 

Sons of jSTew England, The. 

Speech of the Hon. Perverse Peabodf 

on the Acquisition of Cuba. 
Temperance. 
Twilight. 

Two Loves and a Life. 
Two Births. 

Uncle Reuben's Baptism, 
Victories of Peace, The. 
Wedding-Fee, The. 
Wolves, The. 
What the Old Man eakL 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 4, 



Battle Flag of Sigurd, The. 

*' Business " in Mississippi. 

Bell of Atri, The. 

Cane-bottomed Chair, Th«. 

Cobbler's Secret, The. 

Cuddle Doon. 

Custer's Last Charge. 

Daddy Worthless. 

Decoration, 

Dignity of Labor, The. 

Elder Sniffle's Courtship. 

Goin' Somewhere. 

Grandfather. 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep. 

Hot Roasted Chestnut, The. 

House-top Saint, The. 

"Hunchback," Scene from tha 

Indian's Claim, The. 

Joan of Arc. 

Leedle Yawcob Strauss. 

Little Black-eyed Rebel, The. 

Little Hero, The. 

Little Shoe, A. 

Lost Cats, The. 

^Iftry Moloney's Philosopliy. 



Minot's Ledge. 

Mother's Fool. 

Mr. O'Hoolahan's Mistake. 

Mr. Watkius celebrates. 

My Neighbor's Baby. 

Palmetto and the Pine, The. 

Pip's Fight. 

Post-Boy, The. 

Pride of Battery B, The. 

" Palace o' the King, The." 

Paper don't Say, The. 

Penny ye meant to gi'e, Tbt. 

Question, A. 

Robert of Lincoln. 

Song of the Dying, The. 

St. John the Aged. 

Tramp, The. 

Tom. 

Two Portraits. 

Village Sewing Society, The. 

Way Astors are Made, The. 

What is a Minority? 

Widder Green's Last Wordflo 

William Tell. 

Zencbia's Defenee. 



5cTnm.:T'3 dF Reading-Club No. 5. 



k Bleseing on the Dance. 

A Charge with Prince Rupert. 

A Mysterious Disappearance. 

Axt-Matters in Indiana. 

A Rhine Legend. 

A Watch that " Wanted Cleaning." 

An Exciting Contest. 

An Indignation-Meeting. 

An Irish Wake. 

Ballad of a Baker. 

Ballad of Constance. 

Ballad of Ronald Clare. 

Between the Lines. 

Burdock's Goat. 

Butterwick's WeakneBS. 

Dot Baby off Mine. 

Edith helps Things along. 

Failed. 

Faithful Little Peter. 

Five. 

From the Sublime to the Ridiculous. 

Good-By. 

" If We Knew." 

Last Redoubt. 

hiollie, or Sadie? 



Noble Revenge. 

Not Dead, but Risen. 

" One of the Boys." 

Scene from " Loudon Assuranoa.** 

Scene from " The Marble Heart." 

Sideways. 

Somebody's Mother. 

Something Spilt. 

Taci and Talent. 

The Amateur Spelling-Match. 

The Blue and Gray. 

The Biidge. 

The Canteen. 

The Dead Doll. 

The Flood and the Ark. 

The Honest Deacon. 

The Kaiser's Feast. 

The Little Shoes did it. 

The Scotchman at the Play. 

The Seven Ages. 

The Two Glasses. 

Tired Mothers. 

Uncle Remus's Revival Hymn. 

Whistling in Heaven. 

Why Biddy and Pat got Married. 



CoNTEi/TS OF Reading-Club No. 6. 



A Disturbance in Church. 

A Disturbed Parent. 

A Christmas Carol. 

A Miracle. 

♦' A Sweeter Revenge." 

An Irish Love-Letter. 

Behind Time. 

Blind Ned. 

Cavalry Charge, The. 

Clerical Wit. 

" Conquered at Last." 

Count Eberhard's Last Fo.-ay. 

Deaf and Dumb. 

Der Shoemaker's Poy. 

Down with the Heathen Chinee! 

Fight at Lookout. 

Fireman's Prayer. 

Greeley's Ride. 

Great Future. 

Immortality. 

Joe's Bespeak. 

John Chinaman's Protest. 

Jim Lane's Tiast Message. 

Mr. Coville ii.-oves Mathematics. 

VaikiaaUty. 



One Touch of Nature. 

Paddy O'Rafther. 

Putty and Varnish. 

Reserved Power. 

Ship-Boy's Letter. 

Sweet Singer of Michigan. 

Tacking Ship off Shore. 

Tammy's Prize. 

Talk about Shooting. 

Ten Years after. 

The Benediction. 

The Changed Cross. 

The Fan Drill. 

The Farmer's Story. 

The Fountain of Youth. 

The King's Kiss. 

The Palmer's Vision. 

The Sergeant of the Fiftieth. 

The Well-Digger. 

*' Them Yankee Blankits." 

They Met. 

Virgiiiins to the Roman Array. 

Warning to Woman. 

AVeaving the Wob. 

Widow Stebbius on Hoin<j&n|»tiy. 



Contents OF Reaping-Club No. 7. 



A. College Widow. 

A Free Seat. 

A Humorous Dare-Devil. 

All's Well that ends Well. 

A London Bee Story. 

A Modern Heroine. 

A Modern Sermon. 

A Reminiscence. 

A Royal Princess. 

Ave Maria. 

Civil War. 

Creeds of the Bells. 

•'Dashing Rod," Trooper. 

Down Hill with the Brakes ofE. 

Drawing Water. 

Family Portraits. 

Fool's Prayer. 

Greatest Walk on Record. 

Hannibal at the Altar. 

♦' He giveth His Beloved Sleep." 

Hohenlinden. 

How Neighbor Wilkins got Reli&ion. 

How Randa went over the Rive . 

Irish Boy and Priest. 

Jimmy Butler and the Owl. 

Jim Wolfe and the Cats. 



1 ast Hymn . 

if eft Alone at Eighty. 

M aud's Misery. 

National G-ame. 

Ni w Dixie. 

On the Channel-Boat. 

Ori'vnt Yourself. 

Pad lie Your Own Canoe. 

Patnot Spy. 

Pledfe to the Dead. 

Pomo 'ogical Society. 

Rhym >8 at Random. 

San Bt nito. 

St. Leo I's Toast. 

That Car. 

The Ca-t^enter's Wooing^ akd the 

Sequel 
TheDeac Student. 
The Ladie». 
The Pin. 
The Retor' 
The Singei ' Alms. 
This Side aud That. 
Two Fishers. 
Uncle Mellick dines with his Mastar. 



Contents of Reading-Clup Me 8. 



A i?rick. 

• A Colored Debating Society. 
Along the Line. 
A New Version of the Parable of the 

Virgins. 
An Evangel. 
Annie's Ticket. 
Apples — A Comedy. 
A Sermon for the Sisters. 
A Thirsty Boy. 
Aunt Phillis's Guest. 
Ballad of the Bell-Tower. 
•' Christianos ad Leones ! " 
City Man and Setting Hen. 
Daisy's Faith. 
De 'Sperience ob Reb'rend Quacko 

Strong. 
Defence of Lucknow. 
Dutch Security. 
Fast Mail. 
Father William. 
From One Standpoint. 
Girl of the Crisis. 
Grave of the Greyhound. 
Indian Warrior's Defence. 
Labor is Worship. 



Lanty Leary. 

Last of the Sarpints. 

Legend of the White "Hand. 

London Zoological Gardens. 

Masked Batteries. 

Miss Edith's Modest Re» 'st. 

Mrs. Brown at the Play. 

Old Grimes. 

People will laugh. 

Peril of the Mines. 

Parody on " Father William." 

Patter of the Shingle. 

Paul Clifford's Defence. 

Shiftless Neighbor Ball. 

Song of the Mystic. 

The Baron's Last Banquet. 

The Captive. 

The Dilemma. 

The Divorce Feast. 

The Farmer and the Barrister. 

The Man with a Bear. 

The Story of the Tiles. 

The Outlaw's Yarn. 

The Rich Man and the Poor Mot 

Two Dreams. 

Yankee Courtship. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 9. 



Afltolnette. 

Antony to Cleopatra. 

Awfully Lovely Fhilosopliy. 

Calif, The. 

Cheek. 

Claribel's Prayer. 

Cleopatra Dying. 

Dagger Scene from ♦* The Wife," 

The. 
Dandy Fifth, The. 
Don Squixet's Ghost. 
Gingerbread. 
Hannah. 
" He and She." 
Hero Woman, The. 
Holly Branch, The. 
Jan Steeuer's Ride. 
Johnny oa Snakes. 
King's Bell, The. 
Legend of Saint Barbara, The. 
Legend of the Organ-Builder. 
Life in Death. 
Little Girl's Song, The. 
Lookout Mountain. 
Loves of Lucinda. 
Man Wich didn't drink Wetter, The. 



Make the Best of Every Thing. 

Marked Grave, The. 

Marriage of Santa Claus, The. 

Mice at Play. 

No Color Line in Heaven. 

Night Watch. 

Old Man's Dreams, An. 

One-legged Goose, The, 

Owl Critic, The. 

" Papa says so too." 

Poetry of Iron, The. 

Right must win. The. 

Reviving de Sinners. 

Selling the Farm. 

Setting a Hen. 

She would be a Mason. 

Similar Case, A. 

Sleep, Tlie. 

Song of the North, The. 

Spinning-wheel, The. 

Time. 

Tomato, The. 

Tramp of Shiloh, The. 

Very Naughty Little Girl's YWim. 

Widow of Nain, The. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 10. 



Autumn Leaves. 

Autumn Thoughts. 

Baffled Book-Agent, The. 

Banker and the Cobbler, The. 

Brudder Johnson ®n 'Lectricity. 

Building and Being. 

Carcassonne. 

Chain of Gold, The. 

Charge of the Heavy Brigade. 

Christmas Elegy, A. 

Clown's Baby7 The. 

Confession, The. 

Conversion of Col. Quagg. 

Court Lady, A. 

Cruise of the " Monitor," The. 

Death of the Old Wife. 

Death of Steerforth. 

Garfield. 

Hark! 

How the Colonel took It. 

Intensely Utter. 

Jackdaw of Rheims, The. 

Mate of the " Betsy Jane," The. 

Nebuchadnezzah. 

M* Tin^ like the Old Time. 



No Yearning for the Beautiful. 

*' Ole Marster's " Christmas. 

Our Baby. 

Parting Lovers, The. 

Penitent, A. 

Purpose, A. 

Round of Life, The. 

Ramon. 

Rather Embarrassing. 

Ravenswood's Oath. 

Robert Emmett's Last Speech. 

Saving Mother. 

Scene from " Mary Stuart." 

Serenade, The. 

Sharpshooter's Miss, The. 

Sooner or Later. 

Story of a Stowawaj', The. 

Squire Houston's ^[arriageCeremo«|i 

The Way Rube rioffensiein sellfl. 

This means You, Girls. 

Tickled All (^afer. 

ITnioii of Blue and Gray. 

AVidow to Her Son, The. 

Wild Weather Outsld*. 

Young GriuitM. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 11. 



Abraham Lincoln and the Poor 
Woman. 

Big Ben Bolton. 

Bivouac of the Dead, The. 

Captain's Tale, The. 

Cataract of Lodore, The. 

Charge at Valley Maloy, The. 

Child's Evening Prayer, The. 

Clear Bargain, A. 

Closing Scene, The. 

Convent Robbing. 

Countersign was "Mary," The. 

Crutch in the Corner. 

Drifted Out to Sea. 

"Fall In." 

For Life and Death. 

Glimpse of Death, A. 

Going towards Sundown. 

Garibaldi and His Companions. 

Kelly's Ferry. 

Last upon the Roll. 

Leedle Yawcob Strauss: What He 
says. 

Magnificent Poverty. 

Mr. Murphy explains His Son's Con- 
duct. 

Mysterious Rappings. 



Nearer Home. 

No Precedent. 

Old Man goes to Town, The. 

O'thello. 

" Mebbe," Joe's True Feesh Story. 

Paddy's Metamorphosis, 

Pat's Bondsman. 

Pericles to the People. 

"Picciola." 

Red O'Neil, The. 

Reiiections on the NeedJe. 

Roland Gray. 

Second Review of the Grand Army: 

Silver Cup, The. 

Snow-storm, The. 

Speculation. 

Suckers on de Corn. 

" Treadwater Jim." 

Unforgotten Foe, Tke. 

Variegated Dogs. 

Virginuy. 

Washee, Washee. 

What saved the Union. 

Wonderful Tar Baby Story, Theo 

Wreck of the White Ship. 

Yawcob StrausB. 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 12. 



Esthetic Housekeeper, The. 

Asking the Gov'nor. 

Asleep at the Switch. 

Awkward. 

Bad Mix, A. 

Boys Who Never got Home, The. 

Concurrent Testimony. 

Cruise of the " Nancy Jane," The. 

Discontented Pendulum, The. 

Doctor's Wedding, The. 

Enoch of Calaveras, The. 

Fire! Fire! 

Fire-Worshippers, The. 

Funny Small Boy, The. 

Good-by, Proud World. 

How Dennis took the Pledge. 

How He Made It. 

How Tim's Prayer was answered. 

House that Jack built. The. 

Ideal of Woman, An. 

T have drank mv Last Glass, Boys. 

Jack at All Trades, A. 

Judge Pitman's Watch. 

Katie's xVnswer. 

1 ittle Presbyterian Maid, Thei 

OtUe Socket's Chrietmius. 



Lucille's Mistake. 

Making Love in the Choir. 

MemorJ^ 

Money Musk. 

Mike McGaffaty'e Dog. 

Nancy Sykes. 

New Church Doctrine, The. 

Night after Christmas, The. 

" Nerval." 

Old Knight's Treasure, The. 

Only a Crippled Soldier. 

Pat and the Pig. 

Pegging Away. 

Penn's Monument. 

Policeman's Story, The. 

Postilion of Nagold, The. 

Public Grindstone, The. 

Scene from " Leah the Forsakeu,* 

Soldiers' Monument, The. 

Signing the Pledge. 

Sun-Biirst. 

The Three Little Chairs. 

Two Ways of Telling a Story. 

Veterans, The. 

War with Alcohol, TkCc 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 13. 



Apele for Are to the Sextant, A. 

Art is Pitiless. 

•* Assorted " Declamation, An. 

Auction Extraordinary. 

Bob. 

Candor. 

Chicken Talk. 

Choosing a Cow. 

Christmas Ballad, A. 

Cold Water. 

Colored Sermon, A. 

Death of Mogg Megone, The. 

Death of the Dominie, The. 

Death of Thomas Becket, The. 

Drinking a Tear. 

Eaglet and the Child, The. 

Goiu' to Liza's. 

G-ridiron, The. 

How Vera Cruz was won. 

"Jesus, Lover of My Soul.'* 

Lady Yeardley's Guest. 

Little Elfin's Plea. 

'♦ Little Potter's " Story. 

" Make It Four, Yer Honor." 

Middlerib's Rheumatic Cure. 



Mount of the Holy Cross, The. 

Mr. CoUins's Croquet-Set. 

Old Maid's Prayer, The. 

Old Twine String, The. 

" O'Meara Consolidated," TlM. 

Orphan Boy, The. 

" Peace, Be Still." 

Piece of Bunting, A. 

Planchette. 

Political Outfit, A. 

Popping Corn. 

Railroad-Crossing, The. 

Ram for Ould Oireland, A. 

Ruined Man, The. 

Sacred Relics of the Past. 

Sequel to the Old Maid's Prayv. 

Statue Scene, The. 

Story of the Swords, The. 

Sunset Prophecy, A. 

Ticket o' Leave. 



Tom's Dead!" 
Vengeance, A. 
" Willie." 
Wisdom of AJi, Tke, 



Contents of Reading-Club No. 14. 



Advanced Thought. 

African Chief, The. 

American Flag, The. 

Bad Boy at Breakfast, The. 

Ballad of Cassandra Brown, The. 

Catastrophe, A. 

Caught by the Tide. 

Charge by the Ford, The. 

Charity : A Problem. 

Clouds, The. 

Confession, The. 

Curfew Heroine, The. 

Deacon's Prayer, The. 

Dot Delephone. 

Drift. 

Good Wife, The. 

How He Won Her. 

In the Floods. 

Irish Philosopher, The. 

Judge's Search for a Waterfall, The. 

King and the Snake, The. 

Knife-Grindev, The. 

Like Mother UHcd to make. 

Little Jesse James. 

"Lord's Plate," The. 



New-stj'le Poem, A. 

Nine Suitors, The. 

Not to be Won that Way, 

O'Bi-anigan's Drill. 

O'Connell as an Orator. 

Old Daddy Turner. 

Old Puritan Divines, The. 

Oratory of Wendell Philb'ps. 

Paddy's Excelsior. 

Pat's Dream of Heaven. 

Plantation Proverbs. 

Prospective. 

Regulus to the Roman Senate. 

Rolla's Address to the Peruviaas, 

RoU-Call. 

Scene from " Sweethearts." 

Scene from " The Iron CheBt,** 

Serious Jar, A. 

Sheridan's Ride. 

Society l^lay, A. 

Soldier's Reprieve, The. 

Somebody's Darling. 

Unknown. 

Virginia. 

Why Ko Scotchmen go to Heavwa. 



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